The echo of the whistle sliced through the gym like a familiar memory that didn't belong there anymore.
Devon stood in front of the class, clipboard in hand, wearing the university's staff polo the same gym where everything had once begun. Only this time, he wasn't a student. He was their new P.E. lecturer.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
As the students stretched and chatted around him, his voice carried across the court, calm and steady. "Alright, people partner drills, let's move. We've got a lot to cover today."
But when his eyes landed on her, the steadiness cracked.
Kylie.
Second row. Tying her shoelace like the world wasn't spinning differently now that he was back. Her hair was shorter, her focus sharper but those eyes hadn't changed.
Neither had the effect they had on him.
He forced himself to look away. To keep his tone even. To remember why he was here.
It was supposed to be a fresh start. A job. A chance to prove he'd grown past the chaos that once defined him.
But life had a cruel sense of humour.
Kylie had Iver now. Everyone knew that. They were quiet about it, but there was warmth between them a peace Devon had never been able to give her.
And maybe that was why it hurt.
After class, Kylie lingered to return the equipment basket. Devon saw her walking toward him before he could escape.
"Good session," she said, voice light but careful.
He nodded. "You did well."
Awkward silence filled the space between them. The kind that carried every unsaid thing.
Kylie shifted her weight. "I didn't know you'd taken this position."
"Neither did I. It came fast," he replied. "Didn't think I'd end up back here."
"Guess the universe loves irony," she said softly.
Devon almost smiled almost. "Yeah. That it does."
Their eyes met, just for a second. Too long. Too much.
He looked down at his clipboard. "You should go. I've got reports to file."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Right. See you around, sir."
The "sir" hit harder than he expected.
That evening, Devon sat in his office, staring at the flickering screen of his computer. The gym was empty now, quiet except for the hum of the old ceiling fan.
He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to shut out the images replaying in his mind her laugh during practice, the way she'd looked at him like something she wasn't supposed to want to remember.
This was supposed to be a clean slate. A chance to prove himself.
And yet, every time she was near, the walls he'd built trembled.
He closed his laptop and leaned back, whispering to the empty room. "Keep it professional, Dev. Don't cross the line again."
Meanwhile, Kylie sat in the campus café with Iver, their books open but forgotten.
"You've been quiet," Iver said, stirring his drink. "Something up?"
She hesitated, eyes tracing the window condensation. "It's just… weird. Seeing him again. Teaching."
Iver nodded slowly. "Yeah, I figured it might be. You holding up okay?"
"I think so. It's just... he looks so different now. Not like before."
"Different good or different bad?"
Kylie frowned. "Different disciplined. Like he's trying really hard to be someone else."
Iver leaned forward, gently touching her hand. "Then let him. Don't carry it, Kye. You've got enough to think about."
She smiled faintly. "You're right. I know."
But as much as she tried, she couldn't shake the image of Devon's steady gaze during class. The way his voice softened just slightly when he called her name for attendance.
It wasn't love anymore.
It wasn't even longing.
It was something harder to name a pull between what was gone and what was unresolved.
The following week, Devon's composure began to crack.
During a fitness demonstration, Kylie volunteered to assist like old times.
He tried to keep it neutral.
He tried not to look at her the way he used to.
But when her hand brushed his as he handed her the ball, a jolt went through him. She must have felt it too because her breath hitched, and neither of them spoke for a few seconds too long.
The class noticed.
Whispers spread like wildfire, bouncing between students in the locker room and corridors.
"Yo, you see how close they were?"
"Nah, there's history there, for sure."
"Didn't she use to date him back in the day?"
By the next morning, Devon was called into the Head of Faculty's office.
The principal, Mrs. Darwen, peered over her glasses. "Mr. Hayes, I'm hearing rumours about you and a student. I assume they're baseless?"
Devon kept his expression steady. "They are. Completely."
"Good," she said, her tone stern. "You're new here, and I expect professionalism. Don't let history interfere with your position. I know you were once a student here yourself but those days are done."
"Yes, ma'am," he said quietly.
As he left her office, his chest tightened.
He hadn't done anything wrong. Not really. But it didn't matter the past still haunted him.
By midterm, the air between him and Kylie had turned dense filled with unsent messages, glances too long to ignore, and tension too heavy to explain.
After class one day, Kylie caught him by the exit. "Can we talk?"
Devon looked around the gym was empty. He nodded once. "Yeah."
She took a deep breath. "I didn't start the rumours, Dev."
"I know," he said.
"But they're everywhere now. People think..."
"I know what they think," he interrupted gently. "And it doesn't matter. Let them talk. We're not… whatever they're saying."
Her eyes searched his. "Aren't we?"
Devon froze. "Kylie…"
She stepped closer. "You keep saying we've both moved on, but every time we're near each other, it doesn't feel like it. And I don't even know if that's wrong anymore."
Devon swallowed hard, forcing distance where his heart wanted none. "It is wrong. You've got Iver. I've got a career to protect. We can't do this."
Her voice cracked. "Then why does it still feel like this?"
He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes. "Because some things don't end neatly. Doesn't mean we get to reopen them."
Silence hung heavy. Then, quietly, she whispered, "I miss who we were before everything went bad."
"So do I," he said. "But that's not who we are anymore."
Kylie nodded, eyes glistening. "Right."
And just like that, the space between them turned to glass again fragile, reflective, impossible to cross without breaking.
Later that night, Devon walked home under the amber glow of the streetlights. The city hummed around him cars passing, laughter spilling from pubs, the echo of student life still vibrant.
But inside him, there was only stillness.
He had fought so hard to rebuild his name, to become someone steady, dependable. And yet, one look from her and it all wavered.
He stopped at the bridge near campus, the wind tugging at his jacket. Below, the water rippled like memory distorted, restless, deep.
He whispered to the night, "We crossed too many lines before. I can't afford to cross them again."
But even as he said it, he knew feelings don't vanish because they're inconvenient. They just wait. Quietly.
And somewhere inside both of them, something still waited.
Not for a rekindling.
Not for forgiveness.
Just for understanding.
Because sometimes, the hardest thing isn't letting go it's learning how to stay gone.