The overhead lights in the campus library buzzed quietly, casting a sterile glow over the debate room where Elena and Aiden sat at opposite ends of the long table. Dozens of papers were spread between them—highlighted texts, scribbled arguments, and printouts of ethics policies from around the world. A laptop balanced on each side of the table like weapons in a silent war.
They hadn't spoken in twenty minutes.
Elena's pen scratched furiously across her notepad.
Aiden leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, bouncing one leg impatiently.
"Are you ever going to let me speak?" he asked flatly.
She didn't look up. "You can speak when you have something useful to say."
"Great. You've turned into a dictator."
"No—just a competent teammate."
"Teammate?" he scoffed. "That's rich, considering you've basically rewritten my entire portion of the project."
"Because you didn't cite anything, Aiden."
"I had the points. You're just obsessed with perfection."
She stopped writing, eyes flashing. "Perfection is why I'm here. Why I got into Langston. I don't have a fallback plan like you do."
He stiffened.
"And what does that mean?"
"You're rich. Talented. The golden boy of the basketball team. If this debate partnership tanks, you'll be fine. Me? I need this win."
Aiden leaned forward, suddenly serious. "Don't assume you know my life just because I don't wear it on my sleeve like you."
"I don't have time for your self-pity."
"Good," he said, voice rising. "Because I'm done wasting time trying to prove I'm more than a jersey."
"Then leave."
He stood, grabbing his folder. "I'll finish my part alone. Like you've always wanted."
She didn't stop him.
She couldn't.
Her throat was tight and her hands were shaking, but she said nothing.
---
The next day was awkward. They had one final submission left: a joint summary, to be uploaded with both names. The professor had given them until 5 p.m.
Elena worked through lunch in the student café, barely tasting her sandwich, editing the summary with trembling fingers. Every line she wrote felt like a reminder that she'd failed to do the one thing she swore she could: remain unaffected by Aiden Cole.
Across campus, Aiden sat alone in the gym stands, watching the rest of the team run drills. He wasn't playing. Coach had given him a rest day before the weekend tournament, but it felt more like punishment.
Jordan sat beside him eventually, towel over his shoulder.
"You okay?"
"I screwed it up," Aiden said.
"With Elena?"
He nodded.
Jordan sighed. "You want to fix it?"
"I tried. She's… done."
Jordan hesitated, then handed over his phone. "You didn't see this, did you?"
Aiden looked.
And there it was: a mockup of the Langston Weekly front page.
"From Rivals to Geniuses: Elena Moore and Aiden Cole's Surprising Academic Alliance."
He stared. "What is this?"
"Campus media's been watching you two. Somebody took photos. Wrote a piece. It goes live in tomorrow's issue."
"No one told me—"
"Scroll down."
Aiden did.
And saw the paragraph:
> "Sources close to the pair say they've grown unexpectedly close, with Aiden Cole describing Elena as 'demanding but fascinating.'"
His stomach dropped.
"I never said that."
"Doesn't matter. They're running it anyway."
Aiden stood abruptly. "I need to stop this."
---
But by the time he reached the media department, it was too late.
The article was already scheduled for release—complete with the quote, the photo of them studying, and the headline that would paint their rivalry as something else entirely.
He tried to email the editor, but she responded curtly: "Quote confirmed by peer source. Story approved by faculty advisor. Apologies."
He swore under his breath.
---
The article dropped that evening. Within an hour, it was trending across Langston's student forums.
Elena found out from her dance teammate, Tara.
"Hey, Moore!" she called across the hallway. "You and your study-boyfriend are famous now."
"What?"
Tara pulled up the article and handed over her phone.
Elena's heart nearly stopped.
Her eyes scanned the headline. Then the body. Then the quote.
Her name.
Her photo.
Aiden's smug smile.
> "Demanding but fascinating."
She didn't even realize she was shaking until her phone slipped slightly in her grasp.
---
She found him that night—alone outside the gym, bouncing a ball half-heartedly against the court wall.
"Aiden!" she called, storming toward him.
He turned—and flinched at her expression.
"Don't."
"Elena, I swear I didn't approve that."
"Didn't approve?" she hissed. "You're quoted. You called me demanding. Fascinating. Like I'm some novelty item."
"I never gave that quote! Jordan showed me the article just today. I tried to stop it."
"You didn't stop it. You didn't even warn me."
"I didn't know—"
"That's always your excuse," she said bitterly. "You never know. You never think. You just go along like everything revolves around you."
"It was out of my control!"
"Then you're not just reckless," she spat. "You're careless. And I hate that I ever thought you were more."
He stared at her, the words hitting like glass.
And she left him there.
Again.
---
That night, back in her dorm, Elena curled under her blanket, trying not to cry.
She hated him more now than she had at the beginning.
Because now—she had started to believe in him.
And that made the betrayal worse.
---
Across campus, Aiden sat in his room, phone in hand, reading the article over and over.
He'd screwed up.
He didn't know how to fix it.
But for the first time… he wanted to.
---
The fallout from the Langston Weekly article rippled through campus like a wildfire. By the next morning, whispers trailed Elena wherever she went. In the hallway of the liberal arts building, she heard her name paired with Aiden's in mocking tones. In the library, glances darted toward her like she was the punchline of a joke she never agreed to tell.
And it wasn't just the students.
Even one of her professors had chuckled, flipping through papers during roll call. "Miss Moore, the debate circuit's power couple, I presume?"
Elena's stomach clenched. She didn't respond. She didn't need to. The smirk on the professor's face faded as she met his gaze head-on, daring him to continue.
But he didn't.
She was done letting anyone play her for laughs.
Especially Aiden Cole.
---
Rose was waiting for her outside the lecture hall.
"Please don't throw your tablet at anyone today," she said gently, walking in step with her.
"No promises."
"You want to talk about it yet?"
"There's nothing to talk about. He humiliated me in front of the entire school. And then tried to play victim."
Rose sighed, brushing a curl from her cheek. "You ever think he might have actually been telling the truth? That he didn't know?"
"Even if he didn't, the quote was real. The words were real."
Rose didn't push further. She didn't need to. Elena's expression said everything.
Aiden's words had landed deeper than any of their arguments. They were unexpected. Intimate. And she hated that a part of her kept replaying them in her head.
---
Meanwhile, across campus, Aiden sat in the film room, watching game footage with a blank expression.
Coach Simmons walked by and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Your head's not in the game today."
"I'm fine."
"Bull. You keep zoning out. You're moving like your shoes weigh twenty pounds."
Aiden didn't respond. He couldn't. Because his mind wasn't on basketball. It was on the way Elena had looked at him when she said, I hate that I ever thought you were more.
She hadn't yelled. She hadn't thrown anything. She just… looked broken. And that broke him.
After practice, Jordan caught up to him in the locker room.
"You look like you lost a playoff, not a girl."
"Feels worse."
"You talk to her yet?"
"She won't answer."
Jordan rubbed the back of his neck. "Rose told me Elena's spiraling. She's pushing herself too hard at dance. Barely sleeping."
That made Aiden sit up. "She's hurting?"
"Yeah. You may not have meant to, but you hurt her."
Aiden leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I don't even know how to fix it."
"You start by not making it about you."
---
Elena stood in the dance studio alone that evening. The lights were dimmed, the mirrors foggy from the heat of the day's rehearsals. Everyone else had left hours ago.
She pushed herself through the routine again. And again. And again.
Her ankle screamed with each leap. Her breathing turned ragged. Her shirt clung to her back, soaked with effort and anger.
And yet, she didn't stop.
The rhythm was the only thing louder than her thoughts.
When she finally collapsed against the floor, she lay there staring at the ceiling.
She thought of her mother.
Of how hard she worked to put Elena through Langston.
Of how her father used to say, "Never let anyone make you feel small, Lena. Especially boys who smile like they know all the answers."
And now here she was. Feeling small.
Because of Aiden.
She hated him.
She hated that he made her feel seen.
---
The next day brought an unexpected email.
From: Professor Keller
Subject: Policy Showcase Nomination
> Congratulations, Elena and Aiden. Your project has been selected to represent Langston at the Intercollegiate Policy Showcase. Please confirm your attendance by Friday. Presentations will be delivered jointly.
She stared at the screen.
No.
No, no, no.
She couldn't stand beside him on a stage. Not now.
She typed her response quickly:
> Thank you, but I respectfully decline. — Elena Moore
Seconds later, her phone buzzed.
A text.
Aiden: Don't back out. Not because of me. We worked too hard for this.
She didn't respond.
Another text came.
Aiden: If you want, I'll ask Keller to let us present in halves. Separate. No contact.
That made her pause.
Because for once, he was offering space.
He was listening.
She sighed, closed her eyes, and whispered, "Damn it."
And then she reopened her email and deleted her refusal.
---