Adrian POV
The night air carried the faint sweetness of cut grass and the distant murmur of crickets. The park wasn't empty, not completely, but it was quiet enough for Adrian to feel like the world had shrunk down to just the two of them. The dim glow of streetlamps fell across Amara's face, catching in the dark strands of her hair, and for a moment, Adrian forgot how to breathe.
He had always hated silence. At home, silence meant tension: his father's disappointment, his mother's absence, his own inability to live up to expectations. But here, in this strange, fragile pocket of space, silence felt different. It wasn't heavy. It wasn't suffocating. It was… calming. Almost tender.
And it terrified him.
He cleared his throat softly, trying to steady the pulse racing in his chest. "You… really understand," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the faint outline of the path in front of them. He couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze yet. "More than anyone has, in a long time."
Amara shifted beside him, hugging her knees lightly against her chest. "That's because I know what it feels like," she said, her voice quieter, almost hesitant. "To have expectations tied to you that you never asked for. To feel like people don't really see you, just the name you carry, or the money they think you represent."
Adrian turned his head slightly, searching her expression. There was no judgment there. No curiosity laced with greed. Just truth. Just someone who was laying herself bare because he had dared to do the same.
It made something inside him stir...something sharp, something warm, something he didn't have a name for.
"You know," she continued, her gaze focused on the ground now, "I think that's why I cut ties with them. My parents. If I hadn't… I don't think I would have known who I really am. They had a plan for me that was never mine."
She gave a small laugh, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe I was selfish. Maybe I was reckless. But I just couldn't let them dictate my entire life."
Selfish. Reckless. That was what people had always called him too, whenever he resisted the mold carved for him. For the first time in years, he didn't feel like the words were a condemnation.
"You're not selfish," he said firmly, surprising even himself with the conviction in his tone. She blinked, finally looking at him, and for once he didn't look away. "You're… brave. Braver than I've ever been."
Her lips parted slightly, like she was about to argue, but no words came. Instead, she just held his gaze.
And in that moment, Adrian knew. He knew what he wanted to say, what had been clawing at his chest since the first day she'd walked into his life, carrying her books and that quiet determination in her eyes.
Amara, I think I'm falling for you.
The words were right there, balancing on the edge of his tongue. His heart hammered, begging him to push them out, to take the leap. His fingers twitched slightly on his lap, aching to reach for her hand.
"Amara," he said instead, his voice low.
Her eyes widened a little, attentive, waiting. The weight of her focus nearly undid him.
He opened his mouth. The words pressed harder against his throat. He could feel them burning, desperate to be released. This was it. This was the moment that could change everything between them.
But then—
Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
The sharp vibration of his phone cut through the fragile bubble they had built. The screen lit up, casting a glow against the bench. His chest tightened. Damian's name blinked across it, followed by Luke's group chat notification. He could almost hear them already, asking where he was, what he was doing, teasing him if he ignored them.
Amara glanced at the phone, then back at him, her expression carefully neutral. The magic of the moment slipped through his fingers like sand, and he hated it.
He cursed under his breath and silenced the device, shoving it back into his pocket. "Sorry," he muttered, suddenly unable to look at her.
The tension between them thickened, not hostile but uncertain, like both of them had been standing at the edge of a cliff and someone had pulled them back before the jump.
She hugged her arms around herself, a small smile tugging at her lips though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's fine," she said softly.
But it wasn't fine. Not for him. Not when his chest still ached with the words he hadn't said.
He leaned back against the bench, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to fix it, to claw back the moment. The silence grew heavier this time, not suffocating but thick with what had almost happened.
Finally, Amara broke it. Her tone was casual, but he didn't miss the faint tremor beneath it. "So… what did you want to say?"
Adrian froze. His pulse jumped. She had noticed...of course she had noticed. She wasn't oblivious.
His mind raced. He could say it now. The perfect opening had been handed back to him. He could just spill the truth and let the chips fall where they may.
But then the fear crept in. The same fear that had chained him for years. What if she didn't feel the same? What if he scared her away? What if he ruined the fragile bond they had just started to build?
He swallowed, forcing down the confession that clawed at his chest. His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"I was just going to…" He trailed off, searching for a safer path. "
Adrian forced himself to exhale slowly, his hand tightening on his knee. "I was just going to say… thank you. For listening. For not… looking at me the way everyone else does."
Amara tilted her head slightly, searching his face. Something flickered in her eyes, like she wanted to question him further, but she let it slide. Instead, she offered a gentle smile. "You don't have to thank me, Adrian. Sometimes… people just need someone who understands."
Her words should have been comforting. And they were. But underneath them, Adrian felt the sting of what he had held back. He'd wanted to give her something real, raw, unpolished...and instead, he had hidden again.
The air between them turned softer, more fragile. They sat there in silence for a while, sipping at their drinks, watching the faint glow of headlights pass beyond the trees. Adrian kept sneaking glances at her, memorizing the way the lamplight painted her profile, the calm curve of her lips, the steady rhythm of her breath.
He wanted so badly to tell her everything.
But not tonight.
Tonight, all he had were words left hanging.