"Will… will… you be my girlfriend?"
The words tumbled out of Ethan's mouth before he could stop them. His voice cracked, soft yet trembling, as if the weight of the question alone was heavier than the textbooks stacked on his desk.
For a moment, silence swallowed the entire classroom corridor.
Aria froze, her wide brown eyes locked on his. She looked as though she had just been struck by lightning. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. The chatter of other students down the hall seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the echo of his voice hanging between them.
She should have been happy. Ethan could tell. Her eyes softened for just a fraction of a second, as though the answer she wanted to give was already written there. But then something shifted. Fear. Sadness. Guilt.
"No," she whispered suddenly, shaking her head.
The single word pierced through him like glass shattering inside his chest.
Aria didn't wait for his response. She spun on her heel, her skirt swaying, and bolted down the corridor. Her shoes clattered against the polished wooden floor as she disappeared around the corner, leaving Ethan standing there, frozen, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might break through his ribcage.
---
Ethan blinked, his throat dry.
He had rehearsed this moment in his head countless times — in the study hall, in his dorm bed at night, even during dull afternoon lectures when his gaze wandered to the sunlight reflecting off her hair. But never, in any of those daydreams, had he pictured her running from him.
Why?
She liked him. He knew she did. He had caught her staring at him in class, seen her smile soften when their eyes met, felt the warmth of her laughter when they walked back from the library together. She cared. So why had she said no?
Ethan's legs finally obeyed his brain. He broke into a sprint, chasing after her down the hall.
"Aria! Wait!" His voice cracked again, but this time with desperation.
Students nearby turned to watch the scene unfold. Some whispered. A few snickered. That only made his chest tighten further, but he didn't care. All he could see was her figure disappearing around another corner, her long hair flying behind her.
He finally caught up at the staircase leading to the girls' dormitory. She was standing there, clutching the banister, her back turned. Her shoulders trembled as if she was holding back tears.
Ethan slowed his pace, his hand half-raised. He wanted to reach out, to place it gently on her shoulder, to ask her why. But something in him hesitated — a barrier he couldn't cross.
Instead, he stood a few steps away, his breath unsteady. "Why, Aria? I know you care about me… so why would you—"
"Stop," she cut in, her voice sharp and trembling all at once. She didn't turn around. "Please, Ethan… just stop."
And with that, she darted up the staircase and disappeared behind the heavy wooden door of the dormitory.
Ethan stood there, frozen again, the corridor eerily quiet except for the echo of her footsteps fading away.
---
That night, back in his dorm room, Ethan couldn't focus. His open textbook lay in front of him, but the words swam across the page. His pencil rested uselessly between his fingers, tapping nervously against the desk.
She loves me. I know she does.
He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. Memories of Aria flooded his mind — the way she used to roll her eyes when he avoided her questions in class, the determined look she wore when she begged him to help her study, the warmth of her laughter when she finally understood a problem he explained.
None of those moments added up to no.
So why had she said it?
A part of him wanted to march to the dormitory right then, knock on her door, and demand the truth. But another part of him — the bigger part — held back. Confrontation had never been his strength. He wasn't like the other boys, bold and loud and reckless. He was Ethan: quiet, invisible, the boy who had spent most of his life blending into the background.
And Aria… she was different. Bright. Bold. The kind of girl who could silence a whole room just by walking into it. If she had a reason for rejecting him, it had to be bigger than pride, bigger than gossip. Something she didn't want him to know.
Ethan sighed, rubbing his temples.
Through the open window, the distant sound of laughter drifted in from the courtyard. Probably the Prince and his clique again, celebrating something trivial. For a moment, Ethan wondered if Aria was with them, laughing too, pretending this whole awkward moment between them had never happened.
The thought made his chest ache.
He shut his textbook and turned off the desk lamp. Darkness filled the room, but sleep didn't come easily.
All night, he tossed and turned, her voice replaying in his head like a broken record. No. No. No.
But beneath that memory, another thought pulsed louder, stronger, refusing to let him rest.
She cares for me. I've seen it. So what is she hiding?
---
The next morning, the halls of Westbridge buzzed with whispers. Gossip traveled faster than the morning bell.
"Did you hear? Ethan asked Aria out."
"She ran away from him! Right there in the corridor!"
"Poor guy. What was he even thinking?"
Ethan kept his head low, clutching his books tightly as he walked to class. Snickers and side glances followed him, but he ignored them. He had endured worse before. Still, the sting of humiliation mixed with confusion made his chest heavy.
When he entered the classroom, his eyes automatically sought her out.
Aria was already there, sitting at her desk, her hair framing her face like a curtain. She didn't look up when he walked in. She didn't look at him at all.
For the first time since they had started sitting together, Ethan hesitated. He lingered at the doorway for a second, unsure if he should even take his usual seat beside her. But before he could decide, the teacher's voice barked, "Ethan, sit down."
So he did.
The space between them, though only a few inches, felt like miles. She didn't greet him. Didn't smile. Didn't even breathe in his direction.
Ethan opened his notebook, though his mind was elsewhere. His pencil scratched against the paper, but he wasn't really writing. He could feel the weight of the distance pressing down on him.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
And deep down, he knew this was only the beginning.