Days passed.
No texts. No stolen glances in the hallway.
No Ace.
It was like he'd vanished—like our kiss, the late-night messages, the soft confessions—never happened at all.
And it hurt.
More than I wanted to admit.
---
Melanie tried to distract me.
Ice cream dates. Study nights. Even convincing me to sign up for an open mic poetry night at HollowBeanCafé, which I agreed to in a moment of weakness and regretted instantly.
"You need to take your mind off him," she said.
"By reading angsty poetry in front of strangers?"
"It's therapeutic."
"It's terrifying."
She grinned. "Same thing."
---
What made it worse was that Noah started messaging again.
At first, I ignored him.
But after the third "Hey, just checking in" text… I replied.
Because he was nice.
Safe.
He didn't come with secrets or scars or gossip wrapped around his name like barbed wire.
So when he asked if I wanted to grab coffee after school, I said yes.
Not because I wanted to lead him on.
But because I wanted to forget.
---
We sat near the window at Hollow Bean—the same place Ace had kissed me days earlier. It felt wrong. But also weirdly comfortable.
"You look… tired," Noah said gently.
I gave him a small smile. "I guess I am."
"People suck sometimes."
"Yeah. They do."
He paused, then added, "But not you."
I looked up. His eyes were soft. Genuine.
And for the first time in a while… I let myself relax.
Noah reached across the table, brushing his fingers against mine. "You don't have to pretend you're okay."
I swallowed. "I'm trying."
"I know. And I'm here, if you ever want something simple."
Simple.
The word clanged in my chest.
Because nothing about Ace had ever been simple.
And yet—my heart didn't flutter when Noah touched me.
Not like it had with Ace.
Not even close.
---
I was walking home alone after the coffee when the rain started.
Not a drizzle.
A full-blown, dramatic downpour like something straight out of a cliché movie. I laughed bitterly under my breath. Figures.
I ducked into a park pavilion and sat on the bench, soaked, miserable, and too stubborn to cry again.
And then…
"Hope."
I froze.
Turned.
Ace.
Standing at the edge of the shelter, also soaked, rain dripping from his hoodie, eyes locked on mine like I was the only thing he'd come looking for.
"You're here," I breathed, heart in freefall.
"I never stopped being," he said quietly. "I just… needed to get my head right."
I stood slowly. "You disappeared."
"I was scared," he admitted. "Scared you'd start seeing me the way everyone else does."
"I almost did."
He nodded, jaw tight. "I know."
"You hurt me."
"I know that too."
The rain poured louder.
"I kept thinking," he continued, "if I walked away first, it wouldn't hurt as bad. But it did. It hurt worse. Because I walked away from the only thing that's ever felt *real.*"
His voice cracked. And so did I.
"Ace…"
"I'm not perfect," he said, stepping closer. "I screw up. I shut people out. But you—"
He stopped, breath catching.
"You make me want to be someone I didn't think I could be."
He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled something out.
A notebook.
Mynotebook.
The one I'd left at the café. Pages of thoughts and poems and dreams. Mine.
"I read a few lines," he admitted. "I shouldn't have. But the things you write… you see people. Even when they try not to be seen."
I stared at him, rain sliding down my face, mixing with whatever tears I refused to admit to.
"I'm not asking you to fix me," he said. "I just… want to try. With you."
And just like that, every wall I'd built cracked at the edges.
Because for once—he stayed.
No drama. No games.
Just him.
Raw. Real.
And this time, I closed the space between us.
And kissed him.
---