Chapter Nine — Amelia's POV
The week after Kamen helped me under the tree, something shifted—something small but unmistakable.
It wasn't just that the Physics formulas started making sense. It was the way my heart felt lighter each morning, as if school no longer felt like an uphill climb.
Kamen and I didn't talk much in public—he wasn't the type to linger in the middle of noisy groups—but now, whenever our eyes met across the room, there was something silent yet understanding there. Sometimes, after class, he'd wait by the corridor, pretending to be checking his notes until I caught up. We'd walk together part of the way back to the dorms, never saying too much. It was strange how comfortable quiet could be.
I kept telling myself it wasn't anything special. Just two classmates helping each other.
But I wasn't fooling anyone—especially not Doja.
One evening, while I was studying (again), she leaned against the doorway, arms folded, smirking.
"Amelia Reynolds," she said in that tone that meant trouble. "You're glowing. Don't even try to deny it."
I rolled my eyes without looking up from my notes. "It's called fluorescent lighting, Doja."
"Mm-hmm. And that smile you get when your phone buzzes—what's that called?"
I froze. "I don't know what you're talking about."
She laughed, plopping down on my bed. "Girl, please. You've been smiling at your notes like they're love letters."
I couldn't help but giggle. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're in denial." She flopped backward dramatically. "You need to loosen up, Mel. The world won't collapse if you go out for a little fun."
"Fun," I repeated dryly, "is your version of temptation."
"Exactly! Temptation looks good on everyone once in a while."
Despite her mischief, Doja had a soft spot for me. She'd drag me out when I got too lost in my books, saying I needed "fresh air therapy."
That Friday evening, she somehow convinced me to follow her to the courtyard where students gathered for the "Movie Under the Stars" event. I brought my notes—because of course I did—but halfway through the film, she snatched them away.
"Amelia, no one comes to movie night to study Newton's Laws!"
I sighed. "I can't help it. The quiz trials are next week."
She pouted. "You'll still ace it. You always do."
Her confidence in me was oddly comforting.
Over the weekend, I buried myself in study mode. My dormmates teased me for "living in a library," but I didn't mind. Between my faith, my books, and my growing friendship with Kamen, I felt… grounded.
Sometimes, we met under that same tree to review questions or quiz each other. He was patient, and his quiet focus matched my own. But he never shared much about himself—like a wall still stood between us. I didn't press him. Some silences were sacred.
On Monday, the preliminary round for the quiz team began. The science lab buzzed with nervous energy as students filled their seats. I could feel my pulse in my fingertips.
Hilda sat on my left, beaming. "We've got this," she whispered.
Kamen, on my right, only nodded once. Calm as always.
The questions were tough—timed, tricky, designed to rattle your brain—but I remembered every late-night formula, every verse I'd prayed before opening my books. "I can do all things through Christ…" I murmured under my breath, and somehow, the answers flowed.
When the bell rang, I felt a rush of relief—and something close to joy.
Later that day, as we walked out, Doja ran up to us. "So? How was it?"
I smiled, trying not to sound too confident. "Not bad."
She gasped. "Translation: she destroyed it. I'm telling everyone you're a genius."
Kamen gave a small laugh at that—barely audible, but I caught it.
That week, everything felt lighter. Even when I wasn't with Kamen, I'd find myself replaying our conversations in my mind. The quiet ones, the shared notes, the times he looked at me like I wasn't just another student but someone who understood.
And yet, even amidst that peace, other things began to stir.
I started noticing folded notes left in my locker—anonymous, scribbled with phrases like "You're beautiful when you're serious" or "Study date sometime?" I crumpled most of them, shaking my head, but it didn't stop. Doja found out and nearly fainted.
"Girl! You've got fans!"
"They're just teasing," I said, pretending not to blush.
"Teasing? No, honey, this is romance knocking on your dorm door."
I smiled shyly, but deep down, I knew none of them mattered. Not like Kamen.
When I wasn't studying, I was praying. I wanted God's guidance—about my academics, my faith, my growing feelings. I didn't know where any of it would lead, but one thing was certain: something was changing.
As I sat by the tree one late afternoon, the breeze gently moving the pages of my notebook, I whispered a prayer I hadn't dared before.
"God, if You're teaching me something through all this, help me not to miss it."
Behind me, I heard footsteps approaching—familiar, steady, calm.
"Still studying?" Kamen's voice said.
I smiled, turning slightly. "Always."
He dropped his bag beside me and sat down, the golden sunlight catching his face. For a moment, we said nothing. Just the rustle of pages, the whisper of wind, and the quiet comfort of being seen.
And somewhere in the stillness, I realized — friendship could bloom even in silence.