The apartment was quiet, the air unmoving, settled.
Not in a lonely way. Just quiet.The kind of silence he chose over noise.
He adjusted the cuff of his shirt, fingers moving out of habit rather than care. Everything was clean and neutral, wrapped in dark tones. Nothing was chosen to impress.
Nothing loud enough to explain him to anyone else.
The mirror caught him briefly.
His dark hair was damp, swept back in a rough motion that cared more about convenience than appearance. His gray eyes were calm, distant, giving nothing away. Tall and relaxed, he had that quiet presence of someone who didn't need to try to look composed, it came naturally.
He didn't hesitate. His eyes moved to the desk, collecting his car keys, phone, and wallet in one steady motion.
He locked the door behind him and walked out to where his car was parked.
Outside the morning air was cool, brushing against his skin as he crossed the parking lot. His car waited where he'd left it the night before, black and polished,
understated but unmistakably expensive.
He unlocked it with a soft click and slid inside, the door closing behind him almost without sound. Leather hugged the seats, faintly scented of polish and something richer and warmer.
His hands rested lightly on the steering wheel, steady and precise,
the engine beginning its low, controlled hum beneath him.
Aiden shifted in the seat his shoulders broad and relaxed and his gray eyes flicking to the clock, and every movement carried the quiet authority of someone who didn't need to try to be noticed—yet somehow always was.
Aiden pulled out smoothly, merging into the quiet morning traffic. No bus today. No standing crowds. No unfamiliar faces pressing too close. Just the road, the hum of the engine, and the distance slowly shrinking between him and the university.
His hand rested near his mouth, knuckles brushing his lips—a habit he wasn't aware of.
Mira had been smiling more these days, and it wasn't forced, he thought.
Something about her felt lighter, brighter.
That alone should've been enough.
She had finally found a friend, someone she could speak freely to, someone she waited for eagerly, someone whose laugh could lift her without her even realizing it.
And somehow—
Lily Winslow.
The name lingered longer than it needed to.
He frowned slightly, eyes steady on the road.
She didn't carry herself like someone who wanted attention. Not at all.
She didn't move like someone who knew how to take up space. Always quiet. Always careful.
There was a softness to her. Innocence… no. That wasn't quite right. Unprotected felt closer. Fragile, in a way that made you notice every little thing without even trying.
"I tried to warn her," he murmured under his breath.
The memory surfaced without permission—yesterday. Her expression. That pause in her eyes. The way her shoulders had stiffened, like she'd heard something she wasn't ready to hold.
She'd looked… worried.
Not confused or shy.
Worried.
The car in front of him braked suddenly.
Aiden stopped just in time, the jerk snapping him back into the present. The red light glared ahead, unapologetic.
He let out a quiet breath and leaned back slightly.
"…Dammit."
The corner of his mouth lifted as he caught himself thinking that. Not playful or mocking, just the kind that slipped out when he noticed something only he understood.
He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back slowly.
Focus.
The light changed.
Traffic moved.
So did he.
The university buildings came into view, familiar silhouettes against the soft morning sky. As he slowed near the entrance, something caught his eye through the windshield.
A small figure walked ahead,
headphones in, moving as if the world barely existed around her.
She walked with quiet restraint, her steps thoughtful, almost guarded, and he found himself paying attention to it.
That had to be Lily.
He thought.
Her hair fell loose down her back, catching the light with every step. She wore oversized sleeves again, hands half-hidden like she didn't quite know what to do with them. The morning sun brushed over her face, softening everything it touched.
Aiden parked without thinking.
Too fast.
He was out of the car before his mind caught up.
"Winslow—"
She didn't hear him.
Of course she didn't.
He realized her pace wasn't hesitation, it was music. She was moving to something he couldn't hear.
He followed a step closer, careful not to rush. He didn't want to startle her. Didn't want to be another presence that made her tense.
"Winslow," he tried again, voice low.
Still nothing.
"Win—"
She turned suddenly.
"Boo—!"
Her hands flew up instinctively.
And then she froze.
The morning light settled in her wide brown eyes, turning them warm and glassy like honey. For a brief second, everything else blurred. There was surprise there. Maybe confusion. And the smallest pause in her breathing.
Aiden forgot to move.
Forgot to breathe.
Her eyes…
The thought came quietly and uninvited.
She looked embarrassed immediately. A soft blush bloomed across her cheeks, the color deepening faster than she could hide it.Her lips parted like she wanted to say something and didn't know how to start.
"Oh— I—" she stammered softly. "Sorry. I thought it was Mira."
Her voice was barely louder than the wind.
Aiden stared a moment too long.
Then he turned his head slightly and covered his mouth with his hand, shoulders lifting just enough to hide the almost-smile he didn't mean to have.
She really is…
He cleared his throat.
"No," he said gently. "I'm sorry, Winslow."
The way her name left his mouth was softer than he intended. Slower. Like he didn't want it to startle her again.
She lifted her gaze, and something shifted. She wasn't skimming past him anymore. She was really looking.
Up close, she smelled faintly of something clean—Flower, maybe. Or morning air.
Her lashes cast shadows under her eyes, and there was still a hint of pink across her cheeks she hadn't managed to hide.
Aiden lifted his chin slightly, control returning in quiet layers. Mostly. His eyes met hers, as calm as they'd always been.
But something in his chest stayed unusually still, like it was listening.
Without saying much, they began walking side by side, their steps gradually finding the same rhythm.
Not close enough to touch.
Not far enough to feel separate.
The morning air was still cool, brushing against his sleeves as he moved. He kept his pace even, measured. Too fast would feel wrong. Too slow would draw attention. So he matched hers—almost unconsciously.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
She looked… fine.
At least, that's what he told himself.
Her shoulders were relaxed, but not fully. Like she was holding something in. Her steps were light and careful, the way people walk when they don't want to disturb anything around them.
She looks fine, he thought again.
But I don't know.
Silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable. Just… unfilled.
He cleared his throat softly.
The thought surfaced in his mind, unassuming but useful.He stepped half a pace closer, lowering his voice without realizing it.
"…Winslow."
Her head tilted slightly. She didn't look at him, but he felt her attention shift. Like her door opening just enough to listen.
"I—"
He paused. Chose his words.
"I have something I want to tell you."
She nodded. Small. Careful.
"Yes," she said, barely louder than the sound of their footsteps.
He looked ahead now, eyes fixed on the path. It was easier that way.
"Mira told me…"
Another pause.
"She said you're really good at drawing people."
He felt it before he saw it.
The change.
Her steps slowed by a fraction. Her posture tightened, just slightly. Not fear. Something else. Something inward.
He glanced at her again.
Her gaze had dropped to the ground, lashes lowered. The pink on her cheeks hadn't faded. He couldn't tell if it was leftover embarrassment… or simply her.
Did she remember that day?
The first one.
The girl. The project.
He let out a quiet breath.
"Do you remember," he asked, voice steady, "the girl we met on the first day?"
This time, she looked up.
Straight at him.
For a brief moment, her brown eyes met his. Clear and Soft. Vulnerable in a way that made him pause.
Oh…She's looking at me now, he thought, oddly aware of it.
"Yes," she said. Then her gaze slipped away again, like she hadn't meant to hold it that long.
They walked a few more steps.
"For the project," he said, slower now, "I want you."
She stopped.
Not abruptly. Just… stopped.
He did too, realizing only after his body had already followed. He was closer than before. Close enough to notice the faint warmth in the air between them.
"I really want your help," he added, quietly.
"I trust Mira's judgment."
A small pause.
"And…"
He hesitated, then allowed the truth—not the heavy one, just the honest one.
"I want to be friends with you."
She stared at him.
Then she turned her face away, hair falling forward like a shield.
Too much, he thought.
Maybe that was too much.
But he remembered Mira's voice. The way she talked about Lily. The certainty.
"She likes to draw."
"She's kind."
He watched her hands. How her fingers curled slightly, then relaxed.
She inhaled. Slowly.
He leaned just enough to catch her line of sight, not invading or retreating.
When her eyes lifted, he met them properly this time.
Her brown eyes were warm, carrying a quiet honesty that seemed to reach straight to him.
"Can you help me?"
His voice came out softer than he intended. Like he didn't want to bruise something fragile.
Her cheeks deepened in color.
He realized she was shy. Not as a thought, not as a note to file away. But simply as a truth, plain and unembellished.
She tucked her hair behind her ear, a small nervous motion.
"I…"
Another pause.
"I'll think about it."
Then, quieter—almost to herself—
"Thank you. For… trusting me."
He straightened, giving her space again.
"Alright," he said. "Let me know soon, Winslow."
He turned forward and resumed walking.
"Let's get to class."
She nodded and followed, half a step behind.
He glanced sideways once more.
I don't know why I do these things, he thought.
I just… didn't like how sad she looked yesterday.
That was all.
At least, that's what he told himself.
They walked on slowly,
The small gap between them hummed with something unspoken, something steady and silent, stretching longer than it should have.
End of Chapter 21