Chapter 2: The Gravity of Him
The Great Aris Rowon Observation Project began in earnest the next day. Amaya designated her windowsill as Mission Control. Her tools were simple: a new leather-bound journal (a gift for her sixteenth birthday, now repurposed for a higher calling), a pen, and an endless supply of curiosity.
Observation Log – Day 1
7:15 AM: He leaves his house. He walks with a purpose, not a stroll. His backpack looks heavy with knowledge. He did not look over here.
1:30 PM: He returns. He is carrying a different, even thicker book. He goes inside. The house swallows him whole.
6:02 PM: He emerges onto the porch. This seems to be his designated study spot. The light is good. He drinks black coffee from a plain white mug. He runs his hand through his hair approximately 12 times in one hour. It is a gesture of deep frustration or concentration. It is devastatingly attractive.
Amaya scribbled furiously in her journal, already lost in the allure of his meticulous routines. The way he walked—purposeful, never hurried but always intent—fascinated her. There was no idleness in Aris Rowon, no moment of relaxation. Everything about him seemed… calculated. His mind was always working, always analyzing, like a machine that never needed rest.
Her mother caught her on the third day, peering through the slats of the blinds.
"Amaya Snow, are you spying on that poor boy?"
Amaya jumped, dropping her pen onto the windowsill as she turned to face her mother. "I'm conducting a sociological study," she retorted, not turning around. "On the migratory patterns of the overworked medical student."
Her mother raised an eyebrow. "His mother says he's studying for a crucial set of exams. The last thing he needs is you making googly eyes at him from across the lawn."
"I don't make googly eyes," Amaya mumbled, though her diary from the night before was filled with precisely that. His jawline could cut glass, one entry read. I think I want it to.
Her mother sighed, a sound of both exasperation and amusement. "Just remember, darling, the boy next door isn't a character in one of your books. He's a real person."
Amaya nodded, though she wasn't sure she agreed. To her, Aris Rowon was both a person and a character—a living, breathing puzzle she was determined to solve.
The opportunity for a second interaction came from an unexpected source: gravity.
It happened one afternoon when Amaya, seeking a bit of drama for the day, decided to read on the roof of the shared porch. It felt more romantic than sitting in her backyard—though, in reality, it was mostly just a way to escape her mother's incessant cleaning binges.
She was lost in a book—A Court of Fae and Fury, her latest obsession—when a particularly strong gust of wind snatched the paperback from her hands. The book, along with her bright pink, feather-shaped bookmark, fluttered down like a bird out of control, landing with a soft thwap right in the middle of Aris's open textbook.
Amaya gasped. "I'm so sorry!"
She scrambled down the ladder from the roof, her heart lodged somewhere near her throat as she rushed toward the porch. Aris had already picked the book up with two fingers, holding it by the corner as if it were a foreign object. His light hazel eyes widened slightly, flecks of gold catching the sunlight as he stared at the novel now interrupting his very serious academic material.
"Faeries?" he asked, voice flat.
Amaya's face flushed crimson. "Yes. Sorry. The wind—"
He glanced up at her as she came to a halt, breathless and mortified. His gaze swept over her in a single, efficient pass—grass-stained knees, wild, wind-tossed hair—before settling back on her face. There was no anger in his expression, but something sharper lingered in his hazel eyes, an almost imperceptible assessment that made her feel thoroughly catalogued.
"I see. Romance and epic battles," he said, lifting one eyebrow a fraction. "Fiction." He extended the book back toward her.
She took it, clutching it to her chest. "It's not just romance," she protested weakly.
"There's a lot of action too."
"Right," he said dryly. "You should be more careful. A book like this could hit someone."
It did, she thought wildly. It hit you.
Her fingers fidgeted along the edges of the paperback. "Sorry," she repeated, wishing—briefly—that gravity would claim her next.
She turned to leave.
"You skipped two pages."
She froze mid-step. "What?"
Aris tapped the edge of the book with his pen, not looking at her. "The protagonist just discovered the hidden city. Your bookmark is in a chapter where she's already been living there for three weeks. You're reading out of order."
Amaya stared at him. "You… you know this book?"
He finally looked at her then, his light hazel eyes narrowing, not unkindly. If anything, there was the faintest glimmer of amusement there. "No. I know how to read a table of contents and chapter summaries. It's faster when one doesn't have time for… faerie romance."
Her heart thundered. He had noticed. He had analyzed. He had paid attention.
A slow smile bloomed across her face, unstoppable and bright. She took a step closer. "Maybe I like the suspense of reading it out of order," she challenged.
He held her gaze for a moment longer. Just a moment. The sunlight caught in his eyes again, turning the hazel briefly golden—and the corner of his mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
"Suit yourself," he said, the detachment slipping back into place like armor. "Just try to keep your fictional wars off my textbook. I have real ones to fight."
Amaya stood there for a second, watching him return to his work, his focus absolute once more. But this time, she didn't feel dismissed.
She felt acknowledged.
With a quiet, triumphant smile, she walked back to her house, the book pressed to her chest like a prize.
It wasn't a confession. It wasn't even friendship.
But to Amaya, it felt like a supernova—small, brilliant, undeniable.
Proof that the untouchable star next door wasn't beyond reach.
And she was just the girl to build the rocket.