Chapter Five
915 Words
Arielle
I expected the new house to feel cold, but it’s the people that make it harder to breathe.
Kael especially.
He’s like a locked door—sturdy, silent, and impossible to open without the right key. I’m not even sure I want to open him. I just… want to understand why he looks at me like he’s already ruined something between us.
This morning, I caught him staring again from across the kitchen. His jaw was tense, hoodie half-pulled over his face like a shield, fingers twitching on the edge of his mug.
He didn’t say anything. Just watched.
Then left.
My mother noticed. She always does. She leaned over the counter with that same performative warmth she uses when pretending we’re a happy, blended family.
“He’s just not a morning person,” she whispered, like that explained the glacier between us.
I nodded, even though I knew better.
Kael isn’t cold. He’s burning under the surface. I feel it every time he walks past me. Every time I hear him coming up the stairs and my skin prickles before I even see his face.
It’s not normal.
None of this is.
School is the only place I can breathe a little. It’s a new college, sure, and I’m still the transfer girl that no one knows what to do with. But at least here, I’m not the intruder in someone else’s house.
I find myself walking slower through the quad, half-hoping he isn’t around.
Half-hoping he is.
Then I see him—Kael—under the old courtyard archway, talking to someone. Not just someone. A girl.
She’s pretty in that effortless, smug way. Crop top, designer sneakers, soft curls like she never has to try.
She touches his chest when she laughs.
He doesn’t pull away.
Something tightens in my throat.
I walk faster.
“Hey! New girl—wait up!”
A voice cuts across the courtyard.
I pause, turning just enough to catch the boy jogging toward me.
Tall, caramel skin, playful eyes. There’s an easy confidence about him that feels nothing like Kael’s stormy silence.
“I’ve seen you in Lit Theory,” he says, smiling. “You always leave before discussion ends. That class is chaos.”
I blink. “Yeah, I, um… kind of hate it.”
He laughs. “Good. So we’re trauma bonded now. I’m River, by the way.”
“River?”
“My mom was a hippie. Don’t judge me.”
I smile despite myself. “I’m—”
“Don’t say it,” he cuts in. “I want to guess. You look like a Cassidy. Or a Lila.”
“It’s not that exciting. Just Arielle.”
You can call me Elle.
He hums. “ Definitely not close enough. You’re new, right?”
“Kind of. Moved in with my mom and her fiancé.”
“Fiancé, huh? Lucky guy.”
“Not for me,” I murmur before I can stop myself.
River’s brows lift. “Yikes. Evil stepdad?”
“More like evil… stepsituation.”
“Ah. Complicated.” His eyes flick over my shoulder. “Is that complication six-foot-two, brooding, and currently staring at us like he wants me dead?”
My stomach drops.
I don’t even have to turn around. I feel Kael’s eyes—burning, unreadable, sharp as a knife in my back.
“I should go,” I say quickly.
But River falls into step beside me. “Want company to class?”
“Only if you promise not to get weird.”
“Define weird.”
“Like… possessive. Cryptic. Or unreasonably hot and distant.”
He laughs again. “Wow. You’ve been through it.”
I shrug. “Just tired of people acting like I’m supposed to fit into something I didn’t choose.”
We make it to the building and head to class, but even as River chats easily beside me, my thoughts keep drifting back to Kael.
The way he looked at that girl. The way he’s looking at me now.
Later, after class, I head to the library for my student job shift. It’s quiet—mostly. The front desk overlooks rows of shadowy aisles and towering bookshelves. I lose myself in sorting returned texts, running my fingers across spines like maybe the stories will tell me who I am again.
Until I hear footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Intentional.
I glance up.
Kael.
Of course.
He doesn’t say anything as he approaches the desk. Just plants his hands on the counter and stares at me like I did something wrong.
I swallow. “Can I help you?”
“You shouldn’t be around him.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“The guy. River.”
“He’s a classmate.”
“He’s not your friend.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” I snap.
His eyes flash. “I do when it’s about you.”
“Why?” My voice cracks. “Why do you care, Kael? Because one minute you act like I disgust you, and the next you’re hovering like—like I’m yours or something.”
The silence that follows is so loud, I swear I can hear the fluorescent lights humming.
“I’m trying not to be,” he says quietly. “But it’s not working.”
Then he walks away, leaving me standing there, heart racing, skin burning, wondering what the hell he means—and why it feels like he’s right.
- Writer
