Étoile

Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Whispers in the Dark

Stella stood frozen in the deserted hallway, her fingers clenched around the strap of her bag. Julien’s words echoed in her mind. “You matter to me, more than I want to admit.”

It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t hate anymore. And that scared her more than anything.

She descended the staircase slowly, as if each step brought her closer to a new version of herself. Outside, the university courtyard glowed with the last golden light of dusk. Everything around her felt calm, too calm for the storm inside her.

On the walk back to her apartment, she replayed it all again and again. Julien’s eyes, that intensity in his voice. He hadn’t kissed her. Not this time. He had just… spoken. And somehow, that had shaken her even more.

She closed the apartment door behind her and collapsed onto the couch. Chloé wasn’t home yet. The silence wrapped around her, but it gave no comfort. She opened her laptop, tried to focus on her case brief, but the words blurred on the screen. Every thought circled back to him.

The next morning, the campus was damp with the remnants of a summer storm. Stella walked briskly, dodging puddles, anxiety tight in her chest. She didn’t want to see him. And yet, a part of her hoped she would.

In the lecture hall, Julien was already there, sitting in the back like always. Their eyes met—just for a second. No words. No nod. But the electricity was there, thick and charged. She took a seat far from him, surrounded by her classmates, feigning interest in contract law.

During the break, she stepped outside for air. She didn’t need to turn to know he was behind her.

— "You’re avoiding me," he said quietly.

She crossed her arms, keeping her back to him.

— "I’m thinking."

— "About what?"

— "What you want. What I want. What… we even are now."

He stepped closer, carefully, like someone who knew one wrong move would send it all crashing.

— "I don’t have all the answers, Stella. But I know I’m done pretending."

She turned to face him. Her eyes were sharp, but her lips trembled slightly.

— "You spent months making my life hell. Mocking me. Challenging me. And now I’m supposed to believe this sudden… confession?"

He gave a tired smile.

— "Maybe you were the one who made me see what I didn’t want to admit."

A long silence stretched between them. Finally, she said:

— "I need time, Julien."

He nodded.

— "I’ll wait. However long you need."

The following days were strange in their quiet. Julien kept his word. He didn’t push. He didn’t tease or interrupt her in class. He simply… watched her. Listened. Sometimes, their gazes would meet—brief, unspoken exchanges that felt heavier than any words.

But Stella still wasn’t ready. Not yet.

It was a rainy Saturday evening when she received his message. Just a link. Live music at Le Chat Noir. 8PM. Come if you want. Nothing else. No pressure.

She stared at her phone for minutes. Le Chat Noir… That little bar near Montmartre. They had ended up there by accident a few months ago after a chaotic student party. That night, they had laughed together—genuinely—for the first time. A rare truce in their cold war.

By 7:45, she was outside with an umbrella in hand. Her heart raced, her steps uncertain. It’s just a concert, she told herself. Nothing more.

The bar was dimly lit, warm and inviting. A young woman with a husky voice was playing guitar on a tiny stage, the music mellow and soothing. Julien was already seated near the back, two drinks in front of him. When he saw her, surprise lit up his face—followed by something gentler.

— "Didn’t know if you’d come," he said.

— "Neither did I."

She sat. Their knees brushed under the table. Neither of them moved.

They didn’t talk much. The music filled the space between them. He ordered red wine. She picked at a plate of olives. Every now and then, their eyes would meet—and neither would look away.

— "You’re different tonight," he said quietly between songs.

She raised a brow.

— "Calmer. Not ready to stab me with a pen."

She smiled, just a little.

— "Maybe because tonight, you’re not wearing your mask either."

He leaned in slightly, his voice low, intimate.

— "What if we both stopped pretending?"

She felt his breath on her skin. She could smell his cologne—subtle, familiar, maddening. She could have kissed him. She wanted to. Desperately. But she turned her head, just enough to keep the space between them.

— "Not yet. Not like this."

He didn’t push. He just nodded, a soft smile on his lips.

— "Okay."

He walked her home afterward, quiet rain falling like a veil around them. They didn’t hold hands, but their fingers brushed every so often. Small touches that felt like confessions.

Outside her door, she hesitated. Then, in a whisper:

— "I don’t want you to be another lie in my life, Julien."

He looked at her, all trace of mockery gone.

— "Then let me prove I can be something true."

She didn’t reply. But she smiled.

And when she stepped inside, the silence of her apartment didn’t feel so heavy anymore.