Chapter 14 — Lunch?
Tuesday morning carried this strange, hollow quiet — as if the campus hadn't fully booted up yet. Students drifted around like half-loaded files, clutching coffees like lifelines, whispering about assignments no one wanted to do.
I moved through the crowd in my usual half-conscious shuffle, ribs sore but manageable, head foggy from staying up too late replaying conversations I swore I wasn't replaying.
okay it was the — conversations with Cassie.
Her voice. Her laugh. The way she'd looked at me yesterday before leaving the café.
There was something there — something warm and fragile and terrifying — and I kept pretending I didn't notice because noticing it felt dangerous.
I made it through my first class by sheer force of caffeine and stubbornness, and as 11:45 rolled around, my stomach reminded me that food existed.
And then I realized — I wanted to see Ava.
Not accidentally.
Not coincidentally.
On purpose.
Just the thought made my pulse jump, which was stupid. Dangerous. Exactly the kind of thing I was trying not to encourage. But the more I tried to ignore the desire for her company, the louder it became.
So, at 11:52, standing under the shade of the science building, I pulled out my phone and typed:
Me: Hey, uh… you free for lunch? I found this food truck near the west quad that actually sells edible things.
I stared at it. Was it too casual? Too eager?Too—
Her typing bubble appeared.
Then vanished.
Then appeared again.
Then vanished.
I blinked. Ava never hesitated. She usually hit "yes" before I even finished typing.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity:
Ava: Lunch? Today? Um—…yeah. I'd like that. Where should I meet you?
I raised an eyebrow.
Weird.
Not bad weird. Just… different. Like she had something else on her mind.
I sent the location and she replied with a single:
On my way.
No smiley face. No exclamation point.Nothing.
Something in my chest tightened, but I made my way to the food truck to stand in line.
The truck smelled like heaven — roasted garlic, toasted sesame buns, grilled meat, and some kind of magical spicy mayo that probably shaved three years off a lifespan but was absolutely worth it.
I ordered first. Ava arrived a few minutes later.
She walked up quietly, her ponytail loose from practice, cheeks still lightly flushed. She wasn't smiling — not her full smile — but something softer, smaller.
"Hey," I said.
"Hi." Her voice was gentle, almost shy.
Her eyes flicked over me — quick, searching. Like she was checking if something had changed overnight.
Then she stepped close enough that her shoulder brushed my arm as she looked over the menu.
"Hungry?" I asked.
"Yeah. I didn't have breakfast."
"Why not?"
She shrugged, avoiding my eyes. "Just… wasn't hungry this morning."
There was something wrong there. Something off. But before I could ask, the vendor asked for her order and she jumped slightly.
She pointed at the same sandwich I'd picked, then stepped aside with me to wait.
We stood in silence.
Not awkward.
Just… heavy. Like there was a conversation happening between us that neither of us understood the words for yet.
Finally, she swallowed and said softly:
"I'm glad you texted."
"I almost didn't."
Her eyes flicked to mine — sharp and immediate.
"Why?"
"Because I didn't want to bother you," I said honestly.
Her brow furrowed faintly. "You don't bother me, Ethan."
There was a quiet intensity in her tone — something firm, almost defensive.It hit deeper than I expected.
The vendor called out, and Ava grabbed the bags before I could protest.
"I'll carry it," she said, already walking.
I followed.
The field behind the west quad was mostly empty — just a cluster of old oak trees and a few scattered picnic tables. Patchy shade, warm sunlight, quiet corners.
Ava led us instinctively to a spot beneath the largest tree, where the shadows stretched wide and cool.
She sat first, setting the food between us, tucking one knee up and hugging her shin lightly as she unwrapped her sandwich.
Her hair fell over her shoulder. She pushed it back. It fell again. She pushed it back harder, annoyed at it for existing.
It was… adorable.
"So," she said, eyes on her sandwich, tone lighter but trying too hard, "how's your morning been?"
"Pretty boring. Nearly fell asleep in class again."
"You need more sleep," she said immediately. "Seriously. You're still recovering. You shouldn't be pushing yourself."
I smiled. "Are you scolding me?"
"Yes," she said flatly. "Someone has to."
Her eyes lifted to mine briefly — soft and warm and conflicted — and then dropped again like the moment scared her.
We ate in comfortable silence for a minute.
Then my phone buzzed.
Ava glanced up, and peeked over her shoulder. Reflexively. Naturally.
Until she saw the name on the screen.
Cassie: FYI I'm stealing you for coffee on Thursday so clear your schedule.
Ava froze.
Just completely stopped moving.
Her teeth stilled mid-bite. Her eyes locked onto the notification. Her fingers tightened around her sandwich just slightly — so slightly that if I hadn't been staring directly at her, I would've missed it.
I turned my phone face-down, embarrassed.
She swallowed slowly, her voice too casual:
"Who's… Cassie?"
"A friend from class," I said. "She wanted to hear more about the accident."
"Oh." She nodded. Too quickly. "That makes sense."
Something hard flickered beneath her tone, then smoothed over instantly.
She stared at the grass for a second, expression unreadable.
Then, quietly, way too quietly:
"So… she's not your girlfriend or anything, right?"
My eyebrows shot up. "Girlfriend? Me?"
Her eyes flicked to mine — startled, embarrassed, hopeful.
I snorted. "No. No way. I don't— I've never had a girlfriend."
Her lips parted slightly. "Really? Never?"
"Never," I affirmed. "I'm destined to die a single virgin. Probably at eighty-five. In a rocking chair."
A tiny sound escaped her — half a laugh, half a breath of pure relief.
"Oh," she said, eyes softening. "Okay. I just… didn't want to assume."
"You can assume I'm painfully single," I assured her.
Her shoulders relaxed. Literally relaxed. Like I'd physically untied a knot inside her.
She didn't even try to hide the way her posture changed — spine loosening, fingers un-clenching, breath easing.
But she did try to hide the small smile that tugged at her lips.
"T-That's… good to know," she murmured, staring at her sandwich like it held inspirational knowledge.
I blinked at her.
What… was that tone?
Soft. Warm. Something else I couldn't define.
We fell into silence for a bit — this time more comfortable, filled with the sound of leaves rustling above us and the occasional soft clink of our wrappers.
Eventually, she asked quietly:
"What about… her? Cassie. Do you… like her?"
I blinked. "Cassie? No. She's just nice. Curious. A little loud. But no. I don't like her like that. I don't think we'd ever work in a romantic way... Just different personalities."
Ava's breath released so slowly it almost wasn't audible.
Then, softly:
"Good."
Something in her voice was dangerously close to possessive — too subtle to alarm anyone but too sharp to ignore completely.
I pretended I didn't notice. She pretended she hadn't said it like that.
We ate again in silence. Talking about nothing — and Everything
After a while, she leaned back on her palms and tilted her head up toward the leaves.
Her hair spilled behind her like a dark cascade. Sunlight flickered through the branches, catching highlights in her hair, warming her cheeks.
She looked… peaceful. But also conflicted.
Like she was going thorough something she didn't fully understand.
"You okay?" I asked.
Her lips pressed together. Then she nodded slowly.
"I… think so. Today's just been… weird."
"Weird how?"
She hesitated. Then:
"Just… thoughts."
"What kind of thoughts?"
Her eyes flicked to mine — briefly, intensely — then away.
"I don't know yet," she muttered. "Maybe I'm just tired."
I wanted to push. To ask what she meant. But I didn't want to overwhelm her.
At the end of the day, we're just friends—shallow friends even. she started talking to me out of guilt and I'm talking to her for the system rewards. there wasn't anything i could say.
Instead, I nudged her shoulder playfully and changed the topic. "If it helps, I could bore you with more sociology notes."
She smiled. "Please don't."
We drifted into easy conversation.
About her practice. Her coach yelling too early in the morning. How campus smelled like burnt bagels today. The weird guy who fed squirrels granola bars.
Every time she laughed, something warm tightened in my chest. Every time she looked at me, something fluttered in my stomach.
And I hated it.
Because she wasn't mine. Because she'd never be mine. Because she was too good, too bright, too—everything.
I couldn't let myself fall for her.
I couldn't.
So I didn't.
Or at least I pretended really convincingly.
When she finished eating, she brushed crumbs off her lap and pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top.
A soft, almost fragile posture.
"You know," she murmured, "you're… really easy to talk to."
My heart did something violent and stupid. "I am?"
She nodded. "Yeah. It's… comforting. I don't really have people like that."
"There's your team," I said.
"They see Ava Monroe," she said quietly. "The athlete. The student. The perfect one."
She glanced sideways at me.
"You see… me."
For a second, I didn't know how to breathe.
I swallowed and forced my voice to work. "I like seeing you."
There it was.
Her cheeks flushed — soft pink, subtle, beautiful.
But instead of shying away, she held my gaze.
Longer than she ever had before.
Something thick and charged settled between us — not romantic, not yet, but undeniably close. A thread pulling tighter.
She looked down suddenly, breaking the connection, brushing a leaf off her knee for no reason.
"We should… do this again," she said quietly.
"Lunch?"
"Just… us," she clarified. "I like being around you."
My throat tightened. "Yeah. Me too."
When she said things like that it was hard not to let myself forget.... I can't fall in love with her!
We packed up our trash and stood, brushing grass off our clothes. Her hand brushed mine once — accidentally — and she didn't pull away immediately.
Only after a second.
Only after she realized what she'd done.
Only after her cheeks flared again.
"I'll… see you after class?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said, smiling. "Text me whenever."
She nodded — and walked backward for three steps before turning around, like she didn't want to stop looking at me but didn't want me to notice.
I watched her go.
with a bulbed mess of emotions swirling inside of me. Confused. Warm. Terrified.
Because today felt like a beginning of something I didn't fully understand — and wasn't sure I deserved.
And because the system didn't tell me what to do with this.
With her.
With the tightening feeling in my chest every time she said my name.
But I had no idea she'd seen me with Cassie yesterday.
Or how much it had shaken her.
Or how deeply — dangerously deeply — she was beginning to care.