LIAM
Zara's fingers were warm against mine.
Soft. Trusting. Twined in that quiet, natural way that made it feel like her hand had always belonged in mine. And somehow, just that one small connection made everything else fade.
The schoolyard, the buzz of distant voices, the secret I was still dragging behind me like a weight—it all went quiet.
We sat there under the tree she liked, surrounded by nothing but sunlight and the rustle of spring wind. Her sketchbook rested forgotten on her lap, and she was looking at me like she didn't quite know what to make of me today.
Because I was being different.
Because I couldn't help it.
"Why are you being like this?" she asked, her voice light but not entirely playful anymore.
I knew what she meant. I wasn't teasing her like usual. I wasn't deflecting or keeping her at arm's length. I was just… here. With her. Unfiltered. Vulnerable in ways I never was.
I gave her a half-shrug, like I wasn't losing my mind inside. "Because I like the way you look at me."
She blinked, clearly not expecting that.
"Like I'm more than what everyone else sees."
Her gaze softened, and she didn't say anything right away. Just looked at me, really looked at me, like she was trying to see through all the layers I kept up for everyone else.
"You are," she said finally. "You just hide it."
I let out a small laugh, more breath than sound. "That obvious?"
"To me, yeah."
That meant more than she probably realized.
There weren't a lot of people in my life who looked past the surface. Most didn't care to. Even my own friends—when they weren't laughing or partying or dragging me into plans that weren't mine—they didn't really know me.
Zara, though… she saw things no one else bothered to look for.
She leaned back slightly, resting on her palms, face turned up toward the sun. Her hair caught the light in a way that made it look like burnished gold, and I swear, for a second, it felt like the world had slowed down just for us.
I reached over and tugged the edge of her sleeve. "You ever think about next year?"
She turned her head. "Like college?"
"Yeah. Or just… what comes after."
She scrunched her nose a little. "Not really. It feels too far away."
"Still," I said, "what if we end up in different cities?"
She narrowed her eyes at me and laughed. "Why are you acting like we're about to be oceans apart?"
"Because it freaks me out sometimes," I admitted. "The idea of not seeing you."
Her laughter faded. "Liam…"
"I know," I said quickly, rubbing the back of my neck. "It's stupid."
"It's not stupid," she said quietly. "It's just… new."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.
Because it was new. Terrifyingly new. And more real than anything I'd felt in a long time.
There was a part of me that wanted to tell her everything right then. The truth about Beatrice. The plan. The stupid, twisted beginning of all this. How it started as a joke—something cruel and shallow—and somehow turned into the only real thing I've ever cared about.
But I couldn't.
Not yet.
Not when I was finally starting to feel like I deserved the way she looked at me.
So instead, I leaned in and kissed her forehead.
Not her lips. Not yet.
Just her forehead—soft and slow and reverent.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and I felt her exhale against me.
"You're different today," she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," she said, tilting her head to meet my gaze. "In a good way."
I rested my hand on her knee. "I guess I just… like being with you."
Her cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink.
I watched her trace the edge of her sketchpad again, trying to act casual, but I could see it—how flustered she was beneath the surface. She was trying to stay grounded, but I'd done something to her rhythm.
And God, I liked that.
She bit her lip and said, "If you keep being sweet, I won't know how to handle it."
I smirked. "Guess we'll both have to adjust."
She laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that wrapped around your ribs and held you still.
When the final bell rang and we stood to leave, I slipped my pinky into hers.
A small thing. Nothing dramatic.
But her fingers curled around mine, and she didn't let go until we reached the parking lot.
I watched her walk to her car, her hand brushing over the bracelet on her wrist like she was still feeling the echo of my touch.
She turned just before she opened the door. "Text me when you get home."
I nodded. "Promise."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I meant every word I said.
This wasn't a game anymore.
She wasn't just a name on some plan.
She was everything.
And I was already in too deep to turn back now