Chapter nineteen: Aftershocks
(Ria's POV)
I tried to act normal the next day. I really did.
But "normal" felt impossible when Miles Patel was walking down the hall with that infuriating smirk and a faint trace of paint on his hoodie.
Maya nudged me. "You look like you're gonna punch him again."
"Shut up," I hissed.
Emma giggled. "Or… maybe he deserves it."
I ignored them, focusing on my notebook, trying to look busy. I could feel Miles watching anyway.
Miles's POV
Threads. Ria. Zaria Leona Rahman.
Why does she have to look so good sitting cross-legged, scribbling notes like she owns the world?
And that punch yesterday… I can't stop thinking about it.
Her fist hitting my jaw was insane. Totally insane. And… I loved it. Loved the fire. Loved her.
I don't care how crazy that sounds.
I might be in love with her. With Threads. Love at first punch.
Yeah. Definitely.
Ria's POV
By lunch, the festival dust had settled, and the booths were packed away. The halls were quieter now, students lingering in small groups.
Ethan approached, carrying a tray of snacks. "Ria, are you okay?" he asked, soft voice. "You looked tense this morning."
"I'm fine," I said, though my stomach twisted when he handed me a granola bar.
He shrugged. "You punched him, you've earned it."
I almost choked. "Excuse me?"
Ethan smiled, calm and steady. "Miles. He might be Canadian, but he's a little dense sometimes. You needed to express yourself."
I blinked, surprised. "Oh. Thanks."
His eyes lingered on mine — kind, attentive, and warm. For a moment, I felt… safe. Grounded.
Miles's POV
I watched from across the hall as Threads accepted a snack from Ethan.
Ethan… nice, calm, reliable. He's the kind of guy who could actually take care of her. And maybe he already does, in his quiet way.
And I'm over here… hurting, thinking about her fist, her glare, that little crease in her forehead when she's trying not to smirk.
I don't care. I want her. All of her.
Ria's POV
By the end of the day, we were exhausted but happy. Maya dragged me out for ice cream as a reward for surviving the chaos.
"You punched him," she whispered conspiratorially. "And he's still staring at you."
I groaned. "Don't remind me."
Miles appeared, leaning against the wall, smirk back in place. "Threads," he called casually. "You missed one more table. You might want to come see it tomorrow."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm busy, okay?"
Ethan nudged me gently. "You okay?"
I smiled faintly, torn between the smirk of the Canadian chaos machine and the calm warmth of Ethan Rivera.
And I realized… I didn't know which orbit I wanted to follow.
The day ended with laughter, minor bruises, and the unmistakable tension of aftershocks.
Somewhere in the hall, I could still feel the punch lingering — not just on his jaw, but in the space between us.
And I had no idea what would come next.