It was supposed to be a normal day.
Classes. Coffee. Maybe a nap before rehearsal.
But it was the type of day where Elena's smile didn't quite reach her eyes—even when she laughed. The type where nothing bad had happened, exactly, but her body felt heavy. Her thoughts moved like they were walking through mud.
She'd missed her alarm.
Spilled her drink on the walk to class.
Lost a hair tie she swore had been in her bag.
And then, in the middle of the quad, her old ballet mentor posted a photo on Instagram of this year's company auditions. Elena had meant to apply. Meant to. But she hadn't.
She couldn't explain why—not even to herself.
And the wave of disappointment that followed didn't come with words. It just sat in her throat like something undigested. Shame? Guilt? Regret?
She didn't know.
But she did know she didn't want to be around anyone.
Except maybe one person.
Elena (4:44 PM):
| Hey. You around?
Alexander (4:44 PM):
| Yeah. WRX or M5 mood?
Elena (4:45 PM):
| WRX. I want loud.
He didn't ask questions. Just told her to meet him by the back lot.
When she climbed into the passenger seat, she barely looked at him.
"Drive," she said quietly, buckling in.
He nodded, started the engine, and pulled out with a smoothness that made her stomach settle even as the exhaust growled beneath them.
They didn't talk for the first fifteen minutes.
Just back roads, open windows, music low.
Elena leaned her head against the glass. Her reflection looked tired—eyes rimmed with the kind of sadness she didn't let many people see.
Alexander glanced at her once, briefly. Didn't pry.
Instead, he turned the music down and said softly, "You want to talk about it?"
She hesitated. Then shook her head. "Not really."
"Okay."
The silence didn't tighten. It softened.
But that only made the lump in her throat harder to swallow.
Eventually, she spoke. "I think I'm scared I'm not going to be who I thought I was going to be."
Alexander didn't respond right away.
They were at a stop sign, the street empty. He turned to look at her fully.
"I don't think anyone ends up exactly who they planned," he said. "But maybe that's not the point."
She let out a shaky breath.
"And what is the point?"
He thought for a moment.
"To still recognize yourself. Even if the picture changes."
Her eyes burned unexpectedly.
And in that moment—something clicked.
He wasn't just someone who listened.
He understood.
Not the surface-level stuff. But the quiet things. The things no one else ever noticed unless she explained them.
She didn't say anything. But her hand rested near the gearshift, and his brushed it—just slightly. Not a grab. Not a hold. Just… there.
And she didn't pull away.
Later, parked beneath a tree with golden leaves falling around them, she looked at him.
Really looked.
And for the first time, she wondered what it would feel like to reach for him not as a friend—but as something more.
Alexander dropped her off in front of her dorm, engine idling.
"Thanks," she said.
"For what?"
"For not making me explain everything."
He gave her a look—something quiet and warm and a little unreadable.
"You don't have to explain for me to know you're carrying something."
And then, after a long pause:
"I'm here. You don't need a reason to reach out."
Her breath caught again.
And this time, she smiled—but it was smaller. More fragile.
"I know."
After she left, Alexander sat in the car for a while, watching the dorm windows.
He didn't drive off immediately.
Because something about that afternoon had changed things.
She'd let him in—even if only a little.
And he hadn't realized until now just how much he wanted to be let in.
Not out of obligation.
But because somewhere between the first night and now…
He'd started to care.
Really care.
The kind that didn't ask for attention.The kind that just… stayed.