*Chapter 3: "Lies Between the Lines"*
Melanie hadn't seen Professor Miguel in days—not since their last night together, a tangle of hands, words, and blurred boundaries. Campus moved on as if nothing had happened, but inside her, a storm brewed.
She tried to focus in class, but Miguel avoided her gaze like a ghost. His lectures, once electric, now felt mechanical. She wondered if he saw his wife in her again, or if he was simply ashamed. Either way, Melanie was done being a shadow of someone else.
Later that afternoon, she found herself backstage at Hobie's band rehearsal. The air smelled of sweat and guitar strings, the floor vibrated with bass. Hobie stood under a single hanging bulb, shirt damp, eyes wild with sound. He saw her and grinned—not the polite grin of a professor with secrets, but something real.
"You look like you needed to get away," he said, handing her a bottle of water.
"I did," Melanie whispered. "I'm tired of pretending."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't push. Instead, he strummed a soft melody on his guitar, slow and aching. "Wrote something new. Want to hear?"
She nodded, and as he played, it felt like the strings spoke what neither of them could say. When the last chord faded, the silence wrapped around them again—thick, but not uncomfortable.
"I think I'm done with Miguel," she said suddenly.
Hobie looked up. "He's not what you need."
"And you are?" she asked, teasing—but her voice trembled.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But I'm not using you to remember someone else."
Melanie looked away, heart pounding.
Maybe music wasn't the only thing he played well.
Melanie sat on an overturned amp, Hobie's melody still echoing in her chest. He was different—raw, open, unfiltered. The opposite of Miguel, who cloaked himself in riddles and regret.
"Why do you even care?" she asked suddenly, folding her arms.
"Because I see you," Hobie said. "Not who you remind me of. Not who you're supposed to be. Just… you."
No one had ever said that to her before—not without wanting something in return.
The rehearsal room emptied out slowly. One by one, the other band members left with knowing smirks, leaving Hobie and Melanie alone under the buzzing bulb.
"I kissed a man who wasn't mine," she said, staring at the floor. "Who never planned to be."
"And I've been writing songs for someone who never listened," Hobie said with a shrug. "Guess we're both a little used up."
She looked up at him. There was no judgment in his eyes—just understanding, and something else. Something growing.
"What happens now?" she asked.
Hobie took a step closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of his skin.
"Now? You decide who you want to be… and who you want beside you when you get there."
He turned away, grabbing his guitar, slinging it over his back.
Melanie sat still, her fingers tingling, heart louder than any amp.
She had a choice now. And for the first time in weeks, it felt like she was the one in control.