Chapter Fourteen: The Bravest Thing I Ever Did
My phone buzzed on my desk, the screen lighting up with Sophia's name. My heart did its usual, annoying little leap.
Sophia: Rowan is downstairs. He asked if you're free.
Two short sentences, and the room suddenly felt too warm. I'd been expecting this, dreading this, hoping for this all week. I'd practiced the words in my head a hundred times. In the shower, on my walks to class, staring at the ceiling at three in the morning. Every single version sounded either too desperate, too poetic, or just plain stupid.
But seeing his name… it made the decision for me. Fear was still there, a cold knot in my stomach, but something else was stronger. A need to be honest, to finally put this feeling out into the world, even if it shattered at my feet.
I changed my dress three times. First, a black one Sophia said made me look "mysterious." I looked in the mirror and saw someone trying too hard. Next, a bright yellow sundress that felt all wrong for a heavy conversation. Finally, I put on the soft blue one. It was simple, comfortable, the color of a quiet sky. It felt like me. Not dressed for a performance, just dressed for a truth.
I left my hair down, letting it fall over my shoulders. No more hiding. I wanted him to see me, just as I was.
When I pushed open the heavy dorm door and stepped into the cool evening air, he was already there.
Rowan leaned against the side of his dark car, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. The fading sunlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the tired set of his shoulders. He looked… weighed down. More than I'd ever seen him.
But then he saw me.
His gaze lifted, and that subtle shift happened. The distant, guarded look softened, just for a second. It was enough to make my breath catch.
"Hi," I managed, my voice coming out in a soft, shaky exhale.
"Hi," he said back.
Just one word. Low and steady. It settled something in the frantic whirl of my thoughts.
He didn't move to hug me or take my hand. He just pushed off the car and nodded down the tree-lined street beside the dorm. "Walk with me?"
I fell into step beside him. For a few minutes, we just walked. The world around us was peacefully ordinary. A group of students laughed on their way to the library. Someone's music drifted from an open window. It was all so normal, and I felt anything but.
My hands wouldn't stop trembling. I clasped them together, my fingers icy cold.
We reached a small neighborhood park. It was nearly empty, just a couple of old benches under rustling trees and a forgotten swing set moving gently in the breeze. He led us to a bench but didn't sit. He turned to face me instead.
"You wanted to talk?" he asked. His voice was careful, giving me all the space in the world to back out.
This was it. The moment I'd both craved and feared.
"Yes," I blurted out. Then I let out a nervous, shaky laugh. "I mean, I think so. I've… I've been thinking. A lot."
He just waited. He was so good at that. Giving silence room to breathe.
"I don't really know how to do this," I admitted, looking down at my shoes. "I've never said anything like this before. To anyone."
I saw his jaw tighten slightly. Not with annoyance, but with a kind of focused intensity, like he was bracing himself.
I forced myself to take a deep, slow breath. The air smelled like damp grass and coming night.
"I like you," I started, then immediately shook my head. "No. That's not it. That's not strong enough. I don't just like you, Rowan."
The dam broke then. The words I'd been holding back for weeks tumbled out, honest and clumsy.
"I think about you all the time. It's embarrassing, really. I'll be in a lecture, and I'll wonder what you're doing. I'll hear a motorcycle and look up, hoping it's you. I'll see someone standing alone in the rain and my first thought is that they look lonely, and then I remember I don't feel lonely anymore, not when I'm with you."
My throat was getting tight, but I pushed on.
"You make me feel safe. And, ironically, completely terrified at the same time. But the safe part wins. When you look at me, I feel… seen. Not as Aira Grace, the politician's daughter, or the quiet girl in class. Just as me. And I haven't felt that in a very, very long time."
I finally gathered the courage to lift my eyes to his. They were dark, unreadable pools, but I held his gaze.
"I love you."
The silence that crashed down was absolute and terrifying. It swallowed the distant traffic sounds, the rustling leaves, everything. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't even seem to breathe.
My bravery evaporated, leaving raw panic in its wake. I'd done it. I'd ruined the one good, real thing in my life.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words cracking. "I shouldn't have said that. I just… I needed you to know. You don't have to say anything back. I don't expect anything, I promise, I just—"
He moved then.
One step, bringing him so close I could feel the warmth of him, could smell the clean, subtle scent of his skin and the cool leather of his jacket. His presence surrounded me, intense and overwhelming.
"Aira."
The way he said my name—like it was a precious, fragile thing he was afraid of breaking—made my legs feel weak.
"You shouldn't love someone like me."
There was a deep, raw pain in his voice I'd never heard before. It wasn't a rejection. It was a warning.
I found a surprising strength then. I shook my head, a few strands of hair sticking to my damp cheeks. "You don't get to decide that for me," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "My heart is my own. And it chose you."
His eyes closed for a brief second, a shadow of anguish crossing his face. When they opened, the conflict in them was a physical thing. "I don't deserve you," he ground out, as if the admission hurt him.
A sad, small smile touched my lips. "Maybe not," I whispered. "But I love you anyway."
That was the truth, simple and unchangeable.
Something in him seemed to fracture. A wall came down. He reached up, his fingers coming within an inch of my cheek, then he stopped, his hand curling into a fist before dropping back to his side as if my skin would burn him.
"You're brave," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "Braver than you know. Braver than anyone in my world."
"I'm not brave," I said, a tear finally escaping and tracing a hot path down my cheek. "I'm just… finally being honest."
He looked away, his profile stark against the darkening sky, his jaw working. He was fighting a battle inside himself, and I could only stand there and watch.
Finally, he looked back, and his gaze was softer, but no less intense. "Stay with me tonight," he said, the request quiet, almost hesitant. "Not like that. Just… walk. Talk. Let me hear your voice a little longer. Let me… let me just be near you."
The hope that bloomed in my chest was so fierce it was painful. He wasn't turning me away. He was asking me to stay.
I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
He didn't take my hand. He didn't put his arm around me. But as we turned to leave the park, he adjusted his stride to mine, walking so close that our arms brushed with every other step. The touch was fleeting, accidental, but it sent a current of warmth through my whole body.
It wasn't a promise. It wasn't a declaration of love returned.
But it was something. He had heard the biggest, scariest truth of my life, and he had asked me to stay.