The cafeteria goes quiet in the way rooms do when something interesting happens.
Not silent.
Focused.
Aria feels it before she understands it — the shift in air, the way conversations tilt in one direction.
She's halfway through telling Maya about a quiz when a tray drops onto the table across from them.
Hard.
Plastic rattles.
Aria looks up calmly.
The girl standing there is polished in a way that requires maintenance. Perfect eyeliner. Perfect posture. The kind of confidence that's sharp around the edges.
"You're Aria, right?" the girl asks.
Her tone isn't curious. It's territorial.
"Yes," Aria says evenly. "That's usually how introductions work."
Maya's foot nudges Aria's under the table. Incoming.
The girl smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm Vanessa."
Aria nods once. "Nice to meet you."
Vanessa lets out a short breath that isn't quite a laugh. "I doubt that."
The surrounding tables are pretending not to listen. They're failing.
"I just thought," Vanessa continues, tilting her head, "someone should warn you."
Aria's gaze doesn't waver. "About?"
"Luca."
There it is. No more whispering in hallways. No more fragments overheard.
Direct.
Vanessa crosses her arms. "He's not what you think."
Aria considers her for a second. Not defensive. Not flustered. Just assessing.
"I don't think anything," she replies calmly. "I observe."
Vanessa's jaw tightens. "You've been hanging around him."
"We have a history project," Aria says. "And similar taste in quiet."
That lands.
Vanessa leans closer, lowering her voice — which somehow makes the moment louder.
"He doesn't do relationships. He doesn't stay. He pulls people in and then disappears when things get hard."
Maya straightens slightly, but she doesn't interrupt.
Aria tilts her head, thoughtful. "That sounds specific."
"It is."
"So you're speaking from experience."
Vanessa stiffens.
Aria doesn't smile. She doesn't attack. Her voice stays level.
"Then I'm sorry that was your experience," she says. "But I don't make decisions based on someone else's unfinished story."
The air shifts.
That wasn't defensive.
That was a boundary.
Vanessa studies her like she's trying to find insecurity and coming up empty.
"You think you're different?" she asks quietly.
"No," Aria says simply. "I think I'm careful."
Silence.
Vanessa straightens, lips pressing thin. "Just don't say I didn't warn you."
She walks away.
The cafeteria sound returns in layers — forks scraping, whispers rising, someone laughing nervously.
Maya exhales. "Well."
Aria takes another bite of her sandwich.
"Well," she echoes.
"You okay?" Maya asks.
"Yes."
And she is.
Not shaken. Not angry. Just aware.
Luca is by the art building wall again.
He knows.
Of course he knows.
He watched Vanessa approach from across the courtyard windows. Watched the angle of her shoulders. Watched the way heads turned.
He didn't move.
Because if he stepped in, it would become a spectacle.
And he would not humiliate Aria by assuming she needed saving.
But the waiting has tension in it now.
Aria approaches at her normal pace.
She doesn't look upset.
That almost unnerves him more.
"She talked to you," he says. Not a question.
"Yes."
He closes his sketchbook slowly. "You don't have to deal with that."
"I know."
A beat.
"Did she say anything new?" he asks.
Aria studies him.
There's no arrogance. No anger. Just contained discomfort.
"She said you don't stay," Aria replies.
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
"And?" he asks.
"And I don't make judgments based on someone else's version of you."
The silence between them stretches.
Not awkward.
Heavy.
"You don't know me," he says quietly.
"No," she agrees.
That hits harder than denial would have.
"But I will," she adds. "If you let me."
There it is.
Not subtle.
Not dramatic.
Direct.
His hand flexes once against the cover of the sketchbook.
"You don't scare easy," he says.
"I don't scare over rumors."
Another pause.
Then, quietly:
"I don't disappear," he says. "Not like that."
It's not defensive. It's factual.
Aria nods once. "Good."
He studies her face like he's trying to understand how someone can be this steady.
"You're not… mad?" he asks.
"At what?" she replies lightly. "You having a past?"
A faint exhale leaves him — not quite a laugh.
"Everyone has one," she continues. "What matters is how they carry it."
That lands.
Something shifts in him. Not walls falling. But something unlocking.
"I'm not good at explaining things," he says.
"You don't have to explain everything," she replies. "Just don't lie."
His gaze sharpens slightly.
"I won't."
The promise is quiet.
Serious.
They stand there a little too close now, neither stepping back.
This isn't subtle anymore.
The school has noticed.
Vanessa has drawn a line.
And Aria — calm, steady Aria — has chosen not to step away.