When the walls between two worlds start to crack, even the smallest gesture can feel monumental.
Ethan overslept.
His alarm had gone off at 6:30 AM like always, but his body—exhausted from the late shift and the emotional weight of the previous night—had simply refused to cooperate. By the time he jolted awake, it was 7:53.
His first class started at 8:00.
"Shit," he muttered, throwing off his blanket.
He dressed in record time, skipped breakfast, and bolted out the door. His mother and Lily were still asleep, which was probably for the best. They would've tried to make him eat something, and he didn't have time.
The bus was delayed.
Of course it was.
By the time Ethan burst through the doors of the Computer Science building, it was 8:17. He took the stairs two at a time, his backpack bouncing against his spine, and slid into the lecture hall just as Professor Nguyen was pulling up the day's slides.
"Mr. Cross," the professor said without looking up. "How kind of you to join us."
A few snickers rippled through the room.
"Sorry, Professor," Ethan said, breathless.
"Take a seat."
Ethan scanned the room. Most of the back rows were full—people had claimed their usual spots, paired off with friends, settled in.
His usual corner seat was taken.
Great.
He spotted an empty seat in the middle section and started toward it—
"Ethan."
He froze.
The voice had come from the back. Quiet, but clear.
He turned.
Vanessa Monroe was sitting in the second-to-last row, one seat away from the aisle. The seat next to her was empty.
She was looking directly at him.
Every instinct told him to keep walking. To take the safe seat in the middle, blend in, stay invisible.
But something—maybe exhaustion, maybe curiosity, maybe the memory of last night—made him change direction.
He walked up the steps and slid into the seat beside her.
"Hi," Vanessa said.
"Hi," Ethan replied.
Around them, a few heads turned. Ethan felt eyes on them—curious, surprised, maybe a little judgmental.
He pulled out his laptop and tried to ignore it.
Professor Nguyen began the lecture—something about sorting algorithms and computational complexity. Ethan focused on the board, taking notes, grateful for the distraction.
Beside him, Vanessa did the same.
For the first ten minutes, neither of them spoke.
Then Vanessa leaned slightly toward him. "I didn't think you were coming."
"Overslept," Ethan said quietly.
"Long night?"
"Something like that."
She nodded, her eyes still on the board. "Me too."
Professor Nguyen's voice droned on, explaining the differences between bubble sort and quicksort. Ethan's hand moved automatically, writing down key points, drawing diagrams.
Vanessa's notes, he noticed, were messier. She kept crossing things out, rewriting, her brow furrowed in concentration.
At one point, she muttered something under her breath that sounded like, "This makes no sense."
Ethan glanced at her screen. She'd gotten the Big O notation wrong.
Without thinking, he leaned over and pointed at her notes. "It's O(n log n) for quicksort, not O(n²). That's bubble sort."
Vanessa looked at him, then at her notes. "Oh. Right." She made the correction. "Thanks."
"No problem."
They fell back into silence.
But this time, it felt less awkward. More... comfortable.
When class ended, Ethan expected Vanessa to leave immediately—to rejoin her usual group, to slip back into the world where she belonged.
Instead, she stayed in her seat, packing up her things slowly.
"Do you have another class right now?" she asked.
Ethan checked his phone. "Not until ten."
"Me neither." She hesitated. "Do you want to grab coffee?"
Ethan blinked. "Coffee?"
"Yeah. You know, the hot beverage? Keeps you awake?" She smiled slightly. "There's a place just off campus. It's quiet."
"I..." Ethan's mind raced. "I don't really drink coffee."
"Tea, then. Or hot chocolate. Whatever you want." She slung her bag over her shoulder. "My treat."
"You don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to. I'm offering." Her expression was unreadable. "Unless you don't want to."
Ethan stared at her.
Vanessa Monroe was asking him to get coffee.
This had to be some kind of joke. A setup. Maybe Marcus had put her up to it, some elaborate prank to humiliate him further.
But when he looked at her, he didn't see mockery. He saw something else—something tentative and genuine.
"Okay," he heard himself say. "Sure."
Vanessa's expression brightened slightly. "Okay. Great."
They walked out of the lecture hall together.
And every person they passed stared.
The coffee shop was called *Brew Haven*, tucked into a side street about two blocks from campus. It was small and cozy, with mismatched furniture and local art on the walls. The air smelled like espresso and fresh pastries.
It was also significantly cheaper than the chain cafés on campus, Ethan noted with relief.
They ordered at the counter—Vanessa got a latte, Ethan got hot chocolate—and found a table near the window.
Vanessa wrapped her hands around her cup, staring into the foam. "So."
"So," Ethan echoed.
She looked up. "This is awkward, isn't it?"
"A little."
"I'm not great at this."
"At what?"
"At..." She gestured vaguely. "Talking to people. Real talking, I mean. Not small talk or networking or whatever. Just... actual conversation."
Ethan took a sip of his hot chocolate. "Could've fooled me. You always look like you know exactly what to say."
"That's the problem. I'm *supposed* to know what to say. I've been trained for it my whole life." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Image management. My father calls it 'social capital.'"
"Sounds exhausting."
"It is." Vanessa looked out the window. "Last night was the first time I've walked out on my friends in... I don't know. Years, maybe."
"Why did you?"
She was quiet for a moment. "Because they weren't acting like friends. They were acting like..." She trailed off, searching for the word.
"Assholes?" Ethan offered.
Vanessa laughed—a real, genuine laugh that seemed to surprise even her. "Yeah. Exactly."
Ethan felt something shift in his chest.
"They've always been like that," Vanessa continued. "I just... I guess I never really noticed before. Or maybe I did notice, and I just ignored it." She looked at him. "But watching them treat you like that—it made me realize how awful they are."
"They're your friends."
"Are they?" She shook her head. "I don't know anymore. Madison's only nice to me when she wants something. Marcus thinks every conversation is a competition. Blake's just there for the party. And Sophie..." She sighed. "Sophie's probably the only one who's actually decent, but she goes along with everything because she doesn't want to rock the boat."
"So why stay friends with them?"
"Because it's easier than being alone."
The honesty in her voice caught Ethan off guard.
Vanessa took a sip of her latte. "You probably think I'm pathetic."
"I don't."
"You should. I have everything, and I'm still miserable." She laughed bitterly. "Poor little rich girl, right?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." She looked at him. "You think I don't know how good I have it? I do. I know I'm lucky. I know there are people who'd kill to have my life. But that doesn't make it any less... empty."
Ethan didn't know what to say to that.
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Vanessa spoke again, quieter this time. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Do you hate me?"
Ethan's head snapped up. "What?"
"Because of who I am. Because of my family. Because I'm... you know." She gestured at herself. "Everything you're not."
"I don't hate you."
"You don't like me either."
"I don't know you."
"That's fair." Vanessa smiled slightly. "But you're getting to know me now. So... what do you think?"
Ethan considered the question carefully.
"I think," he said slowly, "that you're more complicated than I thought you'd be."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"I don't know yet."
Vanessa laughed again. "That's fair."
They talked for another hour.
About school. About professors. About the absurdity of certain campus traditions. Vanessa told him about her business major, which she'd chosen because her father insisted, even though she secretly preferred literature. Ethan told her about his plans to get into software development, to build something that mattered.
She didn't ask about his family or his job, and he was grateful for that.
By the time they left, the awkwardness had faded, replaced by something easier. Something that felt almost like friendship.
As they walked back toward campus, Vanessa's phone buzzed. She glanced at it and frowned.
"Everything okay?" Ethan asked.
"Yeah. Just..." She sighed. "Madison. Asking where I am."
"Are you going to tell her?"
"Not yet." She pocketed the phone. "I'm not ready for the interrogation."
They reached the fork in the path where they'd need to go separate ways—Ethan toward the library, Vanessa toward the student center.
"Thanks for the coffee," Ethan said.
"Thanks for coming." Vanessa hesitated. "Can we do this again? Sometime?"
"You want to?"
"Yeah. I do."
Ethan studied her. There was no pretense in her expression, no hidden agenda. Just sincerity.
"Okay," he said. "Yeah. We can do this again."
Vanessa smiled—a real smile this time, warm and unguarded.
"See you in class, Ethan."
"See you, Vanessa."
She walked away, and Ethan stood there for a moment, watching her go.
Something had changed.
He didn't know what it meant yet.
But for the first time since arriving at Silverbrook, he felt a little less invisible.