Chapter Thirteen:The Weight of Wanting
997 Words
Aria didn’t expect the hallway to feel like a tunnel.
But it did.
The kind of tunnel where whispers bounced off every wall, and every passing glance felt like it held a secret.
She walked with her books clutched tightly to her chest, headphones in but no music playing. It was easier to pretend she didn’t hear anything that way.
“Isn’t that the girl?”
“I heard it’s her TA.”
“No, he’s not just a TA — he’s a scholarship kid.”
“Same thing. They always fall for the good ones.”
She kept walking.
Each word clipped at her heels like stones being thrown from behind. It was no longer just a rumor — it had become a story. A shared one. With versions passed from person to person, getting more dramatic with every retelling.
She wondered if they knew how quiet Zane could be.
How his hands shook when he drew.
How he never interrupted her, even when she rambled.
None of that made it into the gossip.
---
Her class was a blur.
She sat in the back corner, trying to take notes, but her eyes kept flicking to the door.
Zane wouldn’t come here — he knew better — but part of her wished he would. Just to remind her that all of this still mattered. That they still mattered.
After class, she stayed behind, hoping the crowd would thin. But when she stepped into the hallway, two girls from her dorm were leaning against the lockers.
They stopped talking the moment they saw her.
Aria met their eyes. Held it for just a second longer than comfort allowed.
Then walked away.
She wouldn’t give them the win.
---
Zane texted later:
"You okay?"
She stared at the screen for a long time before replying.
"Not really."
Then added,
"You?"
A moment passed.
Then his reply:
"Not even close."
---
That night, they met behind the art building.
It had become their place — the quiet corner with the rusted drainpipe and broken campus bench. He was already sitting when she arrived, hoodie pulled low, sketchpad balanced on his knees.
He looked up when he saw her and smiled, but it was a tired kind.
“I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
“I almost didn’t,” she admitted, sliding down beside him. “But then I remembered what it felt like not to.”
Zane nodded. “That bad?”
“Worse.”
They sat in silence for a while, the wind weaving through the trees above them. She could hear the scratch of his pencil as he drew, the faint crinkle of his hoodie when he shifted.
“Did your dad call again?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Once was enough.”
“What did he say?”
She hesitated. “That I needed to end this. Or he would.”
Zane stopped drawing. “End this? Like, us?”
She nodded. “He doesn’t care about the truth. Just the optics. The family name. Appearances.”
“And what do you care about?”
She turned to face him fully, eyes shining. “I care about the fact that when you look at me, I don’t feel like a chess piece.”
Zane’s throat bobbed. He set the sketchpad down and reached for her hand.
“You’re not a piece. You’re the board.”
---
They stayed out until nearly midnight.
Talking. Not talking. Breathing.
He told her about his scholarship interview in high school — how the principal made him feel like he was being rescued instead of selected. How even now, with perfect grades and praise from professors, he still felt like an imposter on campus.
“I feel like I’m always borrowing time,” he said. “Borrowing space. As if at any second, someone’s going to ask me to leave.”
“You belong here,” she said fiercely. “More than most.”
“And you?”
She hesitated. “Sometimes I feel like I’m living someone else’s dream. Like my father carved a path, and I just have to follow it to keep the peace.”
Zane looked at her. “Maybe that’s why we found each other.”
“Two lost kids with maps drawn by other people?”
“Exactly.”
She laughed. It was quiet, but real.
He leaned in slowly, and this time, when he kissed her, she didn’t feel like she was falling.
She felt like she was coming home.
---
The next day, Aria sat across from the head of her department.
Her name had been “randomly” selected for a review meeting — a meeting that felt suspiciously well-timed.
The chair, Dr. Monroe, smiled politely. Too politely.
“We’ve received some concerns about your conduct with a graduate assistant.”
Aria’s heart dropped. “Concerns?”
“We’re not accusing you of anything, Aria. But we are obligated to look into it.”
“Zane hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“No one said he has. But you understand how this might look.”
She kept her face neutral. “Yes.”
“Just... be careful,” Dr. Monroe said. “We’d hate to see your record tarnished by misunderstanding.”
Aria walked out of that office with a fire in her chest.
It wasn’t just about love anymore.
It was about agency. About being able to write her own story, and not letting someone else hold the pen.
---
Later that evening, she met Zane by the fountain. The sky was turning orange and purple, and the light made him look like a sketch come to life.
“They know,” she said.
He didn’t flinch. “I figured they would.”
“They didn’t threaten me directly. But it was a warning.”
He looked at her, long and slow. “You still in this?”
She didn’t even pause.
“Yes.”
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