Chapter Fourteen: Borrowed Time
656 Words
The light in the art studio was always golden in the late afternoons — like the sun knew artists needed warmth more than precision.
Zane stood at his easel, charcoal-stained fingers twitching as he studied the blank canvas. The outline of Aria’s silhouette was there, just barely visible, but he hadn’t added to it in days.
Too much noise in his head.
Too many threats in hers.
He had known this would happen eventually — the fallout, the exposure. But knowing didn’t make it easier to carry.
He stepped back and stared at the unfinished drawing. It was quiet. Beautiful. Still.
Not like Aria.
She was never still. Even when sitting, something in her vibrated — her fingers tapping, her lips curling slightly at unspoken thoughts. She was a living contradiction: polished but chaotic, quiet but powerful.
And somehow, impossibly, she was his.
At least for now.
Zane wiped his hands on a rag and stepped away from the canvas. He needed air. Space. Her.
---
They met again near the clock tower. It was nearly empty there, save for a few freshmen laughing by the fountain, unaware that some people’s worlds were balancing on silence.
Zane reached her first.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," she echoed.
Her eyes looked tired. Not from sleep, but from carrying things she couldn’t put down.
"How bad was the meeting?" he asked.
Aria shrugged. "Subtle threats. Veiled concern. A reminder that I’m replaceable."
"You’re not," he said quickly.
She smiled softly. "I know. But it’s nice to hear."
They sat at the edge of the steps, where no one could overhear them. Their shoulders brushed once — then again, as if neither of them could stay apart for long.
---
"Do you ever think about leaving?" she asked suddenly.
Zane blinked. "Leaving school?"
She nodded. "The city. The expectations. All of it."
He hesitated, then said, "All the time."
"And?"
"And I always stay."
"Why?"
"Because I haven’t finished becoming who I’m supposed to be yet."
Aria rested her chin on her knee. "And who’s that?"
Zane didn’t answer. He just looked at her, and she understood.
It wasn’t a person.
It was a version of him — one that didn’t have to apologize for wanting.
---
They walked for a while after that.
Past the science building. Through the garden behind the music hall. No destination, just movement.
At one point, he reached for her hand without thinking — and this time, she didn’t pull away.
"I don’t want to be someone’s mistake," she said, her voice almost a whisper.
"You’re not," Zane replied.
"You don’t even know how many people are warning me."
"I do."
"And you still think this is worth it?"
Zane stopped walking. Turned to face her.
"I’ve never been more sure of anything."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then, for the first time in days, the tension in her shoulders eased.
---
That night, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every word.
She thought about Zane’s eyes, steady and sure.
His voice when he said, "You’re not."
The way he held her hand like it was sacred — not scandalous.
---
The next morning, she woke to a message.
From a number she didn’t recognize.
"I’d think carefully before throwing everything away over a boy."
No name. No threat. Just control disguised as advice.
She deleted it without replying.
Then she got dressed, walked across campus, and waited for Zane outside the studio.
When he stepped out and saw her, confusion flickered across his face.
But she only said one thing:
"Let’s stop hiding."
He stood still for a beat. As if making sure he heard right.
"You sure?"
"I’m sure enough to try."
Zane’s smile was soft — the kind you give someone when you’re proud of them.
And when she took his hand, right there in the open, the sun hit them both like an applause.
- Writer
