The walk back to her dorm was a blur. The cool night air did nothing to calm the feverish hum under Amelia's skin. Every nerve ending felt exposed, hyper-aware, as if she'd been stripped bare. The memory of Adrian's unguarded expression, the raw weight of his confession, played on a loop in her mind.
Easier. Real.
She pushed open the door to her room, the familiar sight of Chloe's side—adorned with string lights and posters for indie bands—barely registering. Sophie was sitting cross-legged on Amelia's bed, a textbook open in her lap and a bag of gummy bears beside her. She'd driven up for a surprise visit.
"There you are! I was about to send out a search party. Your roommate said you were at work but you should've been done…" Sophie's cheerful chatter trailed off as she got a good look at Amelia's face. "Whoa. What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost. Or won the lottery. I can't tell."
Amelia dropped her backpack by the door with a heavy thud. She leaned back against it, closing her eyes for a second. "He showed up."
Sophie didn't need to ask who. She sat up straight, the textbook forgotten. "At the coffee shop? Adrian? Details, Amelia. Now. Omit nothing."
The words came out in a torrent, a floodgate opened by Sophie's expectant silence. Amelia told her everything. Not just the facts of the study session, but the feeling of it. The way the air in the shop had changed when the door closed behind Ethan. The intense focus of their work, the sharp, intellectual dance that felt more like a duel than studying. And then, the crack in the facade.
"He said nobody ever tells him he's wrong," Amelia breathed, hugging her arms around herself. "He said it's easier to be obnoxious. That talking to me… was real."
Sophie's eyes were wide, her hand frozen halfway to the bag of gummy bears. "Holy crap."
"I know."
"No, I mean, holy crap. Amelia, that's not just flirting. That's… that's vulnerability. That's him showing you his underbelly."
"I don't know what to do with it," Amelia admitted, her voice small. She finally pushed off the door and collapsed onto the bed beside Sophie. "All this time, I had him figured out. He was the arrogant, privileged rich kid. A caricature. But he's not. Or, he is, but it's a… a suit of armor. And he took it off. For me."
"Why?" Sophie asked, her tone turning serious. "Why you?"
"I don't know! Because I spilled coffee on him? Because I insulted him? It doesn't make any sense." She buried her face in her hands. "What am I supposed to do now? My entire 'I am unimpressed' strategy is in shambles."
Sophie placed a comforting hand on her back. "Okay, first, breathe. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted, isn't it? To see the real him?"
"I thought the real him would be worse!" Amelia groaned, lifting her head. "I thought I'd find out he was shallow and boring. Not that he's… complicated and lonely and smarter than I gave him credit for. This is so much more dangerous."
"Because you like him."
The statement hung in the air, simple and terrifying.
"I don't," Amelia protested automatically, but the words lacked any conviction.
"Amelia," Sophie said, her voice gentle but firm. "You're not freaking out because the campus jerk revealed a hidden depth. You're freaking out because you're falling for the guy underneath. The one who's tired of people nodding along. The one who seeks out the one person who will argue with him about Brontë."
Amelia was silent. She stared at the faded poster of a mountain range on her wall, but all she could see was the tired curve of Adrian's shoulders as he looked out the coffee shop window.
"What if it's a game?" she whispered, giving voice to her deepest fear. "What if this is just a new, more sophisticated tactic? The 'wounded bird' routine to get me to let my guard down?"
"Is that what your gut tells you?" Sophie asked.
Amelia thought of the raw honesty in his eyes. The complete lack of artifice in that moment. The way he'd looked at her hand on his book, not with calculation, but with a kind of wonder.
"No," she admitted, the word feeling like a surrender. "My gut tells me he was telling the truth."
"Then you have to trust that. Look, I'm not saying run off and marry the guy. He's still Adrian Vale. His life is a circus and you'd be walking into the center ring. But… maybe he's worth a conversation. A real one. Outside of a library or a coffee shop after hours."
"How? How does that even work? 'Hey, want to grab a pizza and talk about your deep-seated emotional issues stemming from immense wealth and societal pressure?'"
Sophie laughed. "Something like that. Or, you could just… see what happens. Stop fighting it so hard. Let the story unfold."
Let the story unfold. It sounded so simple. But stories had villains and heartbreaks and tragic flaws. What if his was a fatal one? What if hers was naivety?
Later, after Sophie had left and the room was dark, Amelia lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her phone was on her nightstand, a silent, black rectangle. She reached for it, her thumb hovering over the screen.
She opened her messages, to the thread with Adrian's number.
Amelia: Got home. Thanks for the help on the essay. I think my argument on Lockwood is actually coherent now.
She held her breath, expecting no reply. It was late.
The three dots appeared almost instantly. Her heart leapt into her throat.
Adrian: Don't sound so surprised. I have my moments. And you're welcome. Thanks for not throwing a mug at me when I showed up.
Amelia: I considered it.
Adrian: I know. I saw it in your eyes. Get some sleep, Reed.
Amelia: You too.
She put the phone down, a slow, undeniable smile spreading across her face in the darkness. It was just a text. A few casual words. But it felt like a continuation. A thread, delicate but strong, now connecting their two separate worlds.
In the quiet of the dorm, Amelia confessed one more thing to herself, the most dangerous confession of all. She was no longer just intrigued. She was invested. And she had absolutely no idea how to protect her heart from what came next.