It rained again on Thursday. The skies opened up just as Elena stepped off the shuttle bus and into the courtyard. She didn't run. She didn't care.
Let it soak her. Let it drown out the buzz of laughter coming from nearby students still amused by the viral article. Let it wash off the ache of knowing that every whisper, every stare, wasn't because of her intelligence or her talent—but because of him.
Because of Aiden Cole.
She entered the Performing Arts building, leaving behind muddy footprints on the polished floor as she climbed the stairs to the studio. Her mind throbbed with stress and exhaustion. She needed the storm inside her to have an outlet. And for Elena, that outlet was always the dance.
But when she opened the studio door, she froze.
Because he was there.
Aiden.
Leaning against the mirror wall, arms crossed. Waiting.
The room was empty otherwise. Just the two of them, and the quiet creak of the door behind her closing.
She stood still, soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her face, eyes burning.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"You keep dodging me."
"Maybe take the hint."
"We have to present together, Elena. Keller made it clear. No solo slots."
"You think I care about the showcase?" Her voice was brittle. "You think that matters to me now?"
He took a slow step forward. "It should. We worked for that. We earned it."
"You threw it all away with that stupid quote."
"I didn't say it! I—"
"You *did*. Whether or not you remember it, or thought it wouldn't be printed—you *said* it. And now everyone thinks I'm just another girl you flirted with and tossed aside."
Aiden's jaw clenched. "You think I'd use you like that?"
"I *know* you would. Because you already did."
He looked like she'd slapped him. And in a way, she had.
"You want to know what hurts the most?" she whispered, stepping closer now, her voice trembling with fury. "It's that I started to trust you. I actually *liked* you. And now? I look in the mirror and all I see is a fool."
"You're not a fool."
"Then what am I, Aiden? Huh?" she snapped. "Your academic arm candy? The rival you decided to romance for fun?"
"Stop it. That's not what this was."
"Then *what* was it? Because you sure didn't care what it did to me."
He tried to answer, but the door burst open.
Mira.
She blinked at the tension, the silence, the storm hovering between them.
"Elena. You're needed. Emergency team meeting."
Elena looked over her shoulder. Her voice cracked. "What happened?"
Mira hesitated. "Lacey blew out her knee."
"What?"
"Practice injury. She can't compete. We need you to fill in the lead role. Tonight."
Elena's heart dropped.
Tonight was the university president's reception. The entire administration, donors, and academic heads would be there. It was one of the most public performances of the semester.
She nodded, speechless, and turned back to Aiden.
But he was already walking away.
Not running. Not storming.
Just walking.
Like it was done.
Like he was letting her go.
---
The university auditorium was alive with chatter and movement that evening. Lights glimmered overhead like stars, and students rushed behind curtains with nervous excitement. Elena stood backstage, clutching her costume bag, Mira at her side.
"Are you sure you're okay to do this?" Mira asked gently.
Elena nodded, even though her hands trembled. "I have to."
"I know it's been a hard week."
"I just want to dance."
"Okay." Mira gave her a quick, encouraging squeeze on the arm. "Then give them something unforgettable."
She disappeared down the hallway. Elena moved to the side, finding a small dressing mirror, and sat in front of it. She applied her makeup slowly, each stroke of eyeliner feeling like armor. Her heart pounded.
She tried not to think about him.
She failed.
---
Meanwhile, Rose and Jordan arrived at the auditorium and found seats close to the front. Rose wore a lavender sweater and a nervous smile. Jordan looked at her sideways.
"You alright?"
"Yeah. Just worried about Elena."
"I get it. She's strong though."
Rose looked down. "She doesn't have to be all the time."
He didn't argue. Instead, he gently reached for her hand, and she didn't pull away.
---
The lights dimmed. The curtain rose.
And Elena stepped out.
Center stage. Alone. Wrapped in white chiffon, a halo of light circling her like a spotlight on something sacred.
The music began.
It was soft, melodic. But every movement Elena made was sharp and haunted.
She wasn't just dancing. She was confessing.
To the audience. To herself. To him.
Each turn was a scream she didn't speak. Each reach of her hand, a question never answered. Her hair flew behind her like wings. Her legs sliced the air with rage and grief.
Tears mixed with sweat. No one could tell.
When the music reached its crescendo, she dropped to her knees. Arms wide. Face tilted to the heavens.
Silence.
And then thunderous applause.
But Elena didn't rise to acknowledge it.
Backstage, she walked like a ghost. Mira tried to congratulate her, but she brushed past, ignoring everyone, stepping into the hallway.
The moment she was alone, the tears came.
Not dramatic. Not loud.
Just steady.
As if her body had waited until it was safe to let go.
She leaned against the wall, sliding to the floor.
She didn't want to be seen like this. Not by anyone.
And definitely not by him.
But fate had cruel timing.
Aiden turned the corner.
He saw her there.
Frozen.
Broken.
Their eyes met.
And she stood up quickly, brushing her cheeks.
"Don't."
"Elena—"
"No," she said sharply. "Don't come near me. Not now."
He stopped.
"I just wanted to say... you were incredible."
"Don't flatter me, Aiden. Not after everything."
"I meant it."
She looked at him, raw. "That's the problem. I used to believe you. Now I don't know what to believe anymore."
She walked past him.
And this time, he didn't stop her.
He just stood there.
Alone.
---
The night after the performance should have been filled with celebration. Elena had delivered a flawless routine, earned the admiration of faculty and peers alike, and proven to everyone that she was more than just a pretty girl attached to a controversy.
But she didn't feel victorious.
She felt drained. Stripped bare.
She slept fitfully that night, waking from dreams that left her disoriented—Aiden's face appearing, disappearing, like a flicker in a storm. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard his voice.
"You were incredible."
She hated that he meant it.
She hated that it still mattered.
---
Rose knocked gently at Elena's door the next morning. She entered with a cup of chai and a soft smile. "I figured you'd be up."
Elena was seated by the window, legs drawn to her chest, eyes rimmed with shadows. She offered a weak smile and accepted the cup.
"You were amazing last night," Rose said softly, sitting beside her.
"Thanks."
"I mean it. The whole room felt it. I felt it."
Elena looked down into her cup. "I wasn't dancing for them."
"I know."
Rose waited a beat, then added, "He was there."
Elena didn't flinch. "I saw."
"You spoke?"
"Briefly."
"And?"
"It didn't change anything."
Rose hesitated. "He looked wrecked."
"Good."
They sat in silence.
Rose reached for Elena's hand. "Can I say something you might hate?"
"Only if you're prepared for me to ignore it."
"I think he's trying. In the wrong ways, maybe. But I think he's hurting too."
Elena didn't respond. Her silence said enough.
---
Across campus, Aiden was on the practice court before dawn. The gym echoed with the rhythmic thud of the ball as he drove himself through punishing drills. Sweat poured down his back. His legs ached. He didn't care.
He needed to feel something besides regret.
Jordan joined him an hour later, bouncing a second ball.
"You been here all night?"
Aiden shrugged.
Jordan shot a few hoops in silence, then asked, "Did you talk to her?"
"Yeah. After the performance."
"And?"
"She told me not to come near her."
Jordan winced. "Ouch."
Aiden stopped and sat down, wiping his face with his shirt. "I can't blame her. I hurt her."
"Unintentionally."
"Doesn't matter. It still counts."
Jordan dribbled in place. "So what's next?"
"I don't know."
"Well, you can't fix it by running suicides all morning."
Aiden gave a bitter chuckle. "Then what do I do?"
Jordan thought for a second. "Maybe try something she wouldn't expect. Show her you're actually listening."
Aiden stared into space. "I don't even know what that looks like anymore."
---
Later that afternoon, Elena sat alone in the student café, nursing a second cup of black coffee and picking at a croissant she wasn't hungry for.
She watched students pass by—some glancing at her with vague recognition, some not noticing at all.
Her phone buzzed.
**Professor Keller:** *Please check the updated showcase guidelines. You and Mr. Cole will need to rehearse jointly at least twice before the event. Let me know which dates you can confirm.*
She sighed, sinking back in her chair.
Twice.
Two rehearsals.
Two more chances for her to hate him.
She typed a short reply: *Next Monday and Thursday. 4 PM. Library conference room.*
No emojis. No kindness.
Just necessity.
---
Rose was late to her literature seminar that day. She slipped into the seat next to Jordan, breathless.
"Traffic," she whispered.
He grinned. "You ran like a whole two blocks. I'm impressed."
"Shut up."
They exchanged glances.
Then smiles.
Something between them had shifted lately. Quietly. Naturally. They didn't talk about it, but it lingered in the pauses, the side glances, the soft sarcasm.
After class, they walked together to the quad. Leaves drifted from the trees, dancing in slow spirals.
"You know," Jordan said, shoving his hands in his pockets, "if you keep sitting next to me in every class, people might think we're a thing."
Rose raised a brow. "And?"
He stopped walking. "I wouldn't mind."
Her heart stuttered.
She smiled slowly. "Neither would I."
---
Monday came fast.
Elena stood outside the library conference room, folders in hand, heart pounding. She could hear Aiden's voice inside, low and steady, probably rehearsing his lines.
She took a deep breath and stepped in.
He looked up immediately.
No smile. No smugness.
Just that unreadable calm she used to hate.
Now, it made her nervous.
"Hey," he said quietly.
She nodded. "Let's just run through it."
"Of course."
They sat on opposite sides of the long table, opening laptops, avoiding eye contact.
"I marked the section where we transition between our points," Elena said, pushing a printout toward him. "I figured we need to work on the flow."
"Good call. I noticed that too."
Silence.
She hated how normal it felt to work beside him.
Like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn't broken something.
Halfway through the rehearsal, he paused.
"Elena... can I ask you something?"
She didn't look up. "Depends."
"If none of this had happened... do you think we could've been friends?"
Her fingers froze over the keyboard.
She didn't answer.
And in that silence, he had his answer.
---