The M5's engine still ticked softly under the hood, the metal cooling in the hush of the garage. Alexander stood beside it for a long minute after Elena had gone upstairs, keys still in his hand, as if motion itself needed permission.
Her scent lingered faintly in the passenger seat.
So did her laughter.
He didn't smile. Not quite.
Instead, he exhaled slow—too slow—and pushed his hand through his hair.
Then he turned off the lights, locked the garage, and made his way back to campus.
The door to his dorm creaked open just past midnight. Mateo's desk lamp was still on, casting a low glow over an open laptop and an empty Red Bull can. The bed across the room was made, undisturbed. Gone for the weekend, probably. Alexander didn't check. He didn't care. He was thankful for the silence.
He dropped his keys onto the shared dresser, shrugged out of his hoodie, and made a quiet path toward the narrow sliding door that led to the balcony.
It was barely a slab of concrete with a railing. Just big enough for one chair and a rust-stained ashtray.
It was all he needed.
He grabbed the lighter from the windowsill, the cigarette pack from the hoodie pocket.
And stepped out.
The night air hit him like a soft hand to the chest—cool, quiet, grounding.
He lit the cigarette. Watched the tip glow orange in the dark like the last ember of something he wasn't ready to name.
Then leaned on the railing and looked up.
The stars weren't sharp tonight. Slightly blurred by city light and faint humidity—but they were there. Still. Constant.
He wondered what Elena was doing. Whether she had gone straight to bed. Whether her room was silent like this. Whether her head was spinning the way his was.
Had he moved too fast?
Had he crossed some invisible boundary of what this was supposed to be?
He wanted to be around her.
Wanted to know her—her routines, her bad days, her stories.
Not just be the guy she texted for rides or laughed with at bonfires.
And that… terrified him.
He inhaled deeply and let the smoke drift into the sky.
Elena had started something in him.
Not just attraction. Not even just care.
It was recognition.
Like seeing a face in a dream that you somehow remember before you've ever met.
She got him in ways people didn't try to.
Understood silence.
Understood space.
Understood that he wasn't someone who loved loudly—but he did love.
And if he let himself...
He could fall for her.
He already was. Maybe. Just a little.
He exhaled slowly, watching the night shimmer around him.
It felt like standing at the edge of something—not a cliff, but a door.
And for once, he didn't want to walk away.
The smoke burned lower in his fingers.
He thought about the way she looked at him in the garage.
Not like he was intimidating.
Not like he was impressive.
But like she saw him.
Really saw him.
And didn't look away.
He flicked the cigarette into the tray, the last ember vanishing.
Arms on the railing again, eyes on the stars.
And for a long time, he said nothing.
Because words couldn't hold what he was feeling.
Not yet.
But somewhere in that silence, something inside him settled.
Not in defeat.
In decision.
He wasn't moving too fast.
He wasn't overstepping.
He wasn't forcing this.
He was finally letting himself want something.
And for once, not running from it.
He didn't know where it would go.
But he knew what it was becoming.
And that was enough.
He turned back into the dorm, slid the balcony door shut, and caught his reflection in the glass—tired, a little overwhelmed, but... lighter.
Mateo's bed was still empty.
The clock read 1:03 AM.
And Alexander finally laid down with the kind of quiet in his chest that didn't ask questions anymore.
Only one quiet truth:
This is what I want.And I'm not letting go of it.