Chapter 8
That night after the bonfire, I couldn’t sleep.
Ian’s words kept looping through my head: “Don’t walk away yet.”
As if it were that simple. As if my heart didn’t already feel tangled in something I couldn’t name.
By morning, I was exhausted and emotionally worn. But I pushed myself through the usual routine—shower, oversized sweater, tied-back hair. The version of me I knew how to control.
At university, Abigail and I barely made it to class on time. The professor was already writing on the board as we rushed in.
Ian wasn’t there.
Again.
A part of me sank in disappointment, even though I kept telling myself I shouldn’t care.
Midway through class, Abigail nudged my arm. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, but the truth was, I wasn’t sure anymore. I was feeling too much. Too fast. And for someone who only saw girls as a distraction, I couldn’t risk being the next forgotten name.
After class, I went to the library alone, hoping to clear my mind. I sat at a back table with a stack of books in front of me, pretending to study.
But then, like clockwork, he appeared.
Ian.
He didn’t say a word. Just sat across from me, elbows on the table, eyes on mine.
“You’re avoiding me,” he finally said.
I sighed. “Maybe I have good reason to.”
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You think I’m playing with you.”
“Aren’t you?”
His jaw tensed. “If I wanted to play, there are easier girls to chase. Girls who throw themselves at me. I wouldn’t waste my time on someone who runs away every time I get close.”
That made me look up.
“Then why are you here?” I asked.
“Because you make me feel like I’ve never felt before. And I hate it. But I crave it too.”
His words felt dangerous. Addictive.
He reached across the table, slowly taking my hand in his. His thumb brushed my skin. My entire body felt it—my breath caught, my skin tingled.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him. “But I will, if you keep looking at me like I’m the villain. Like I’m the one breaking the rules, when you’re the only one who’s making me want to follow them.”
I felt a flush creep up my neck.
“What do you want from me, Ian?”
“I want you to see what I see,” he whispered. “A girl who’s more than enough. More than anyone ever gave her credit for.”
I couldn’t breathe.
His eyes burned into mine, dark and full of things I couldn’t name. Then, he stood up, pulling me gently with him.
“Come with me.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Just kept walking until we were outside, behind the library where no one could see us.
I should have stopped him.
But I didn’t.
He turned and pressed me gently against the brick wall, one hand on my waist, the other brushing my jaw. His touch was soft, but his eyes were stormy.
“I don’t want to scare you,” he said.
“You don’t.”
“I want to kiss you again.”
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t have to.
Because the next moment, his lips were on mine—this time not a whisper, but a promise. Deep, slow, hungry. Like he’d been waiting for this as much as I had.
The kiss set fire to everything inside me. And for a few seconds, I let go of the fear. The rules. The past.
I just let myself feel him.
When we pulled apart, we were both breathless.
“This isn’t over,” he said.
And I believed him.