CHAPTER 8 (PATTERNS)
580 Words
CHAPTER EIGHT
The air between them was thicker than before.
Asher sat across from Rhett, not quite knowing what to say. His juice had gone warm. Rhett, meanwhile, looked calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made Asher feel small, like whatever they shared—or didn’t share—mattered more to him than it ever would to Rhett.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Asher said quietly.
Rhett leaned back, arms stretched across the bench behind them. “You say that like you didn’t want to.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Asher looked away. Students passed by in loose pairs and small groups, all swallowed in chatter. He wondered if anyone else could hear how fast his heart was beating.
“You said you were looking for me,” Asher whispered. “Why?”
Rhett looked up at the trees, as if the branches held the answer. “I don’t know. You were different. That night… you didn’t ask for anything. You just needed someone.”
“I still do.”
Rhett blinked slowly, like the weight of the words took a second to land. He didn’t reply right away.
Asher stood up, suddenly unsure of himself. “I should go.”
Rhett didn’t move. “Want me to walk you?”
“No. I’m good.”
But he wasn’t.
---
Zayn was in the hostel room when Asher returned, sprawled on the lower bunk with a book in one hand and half a sandwich in the other.
“You left me with a god,” Zayn said without looking up. “Did he kiss you or kill you?”
Asher flopped onto the bed. “Neither. He just talked. And stared. And made everything feel like too much.”
Zayn glanced over. “You okay?”
“No.”
“You still like him?”
“I think so.”
Zayn sighed and offered the rest of his sandwich. “This campus isn’t ready for your emotional spiral.”
Asher accepted the sandwich and stared at the ceiling. His mind was still with Rhett.
Not in the sweet, fluttery kind of way.
In the heavy, what-does-this-even-mean kind of way.
And somehow, he knew this wasn’t the end of it.
---
The next day, Asher stood outside their department’s admin office, waiting for Zayn to finish up his faculty registration.
Students buzzed around, laughing, catching up, moving in clumps.
A group of girls nearby whispered loudly enough for him to hear.
“Rhett was seen at the sports hall again. Alone, of course.”
“Did you see how hot he looked in that black tee? God.”
“Someone said he only dates seniors.”
“No, someone said he doesn’t date at all.”
“Someone said he once—”
Asher didn’t want to hear the rest. He stepped away from the wall and walked toward the hallway. But the whispers followed him in his mind.
Rhett.
Everyone knew him.
Everyone wanted him.
And yet, Asher didn’t even know if he mattered.
He wasn’t sure if they were friends.
Or a mistake Rhett regretted.
Or just another moment in a long list of flings.
The jealousy that crept into his chest shocked him.
They weren’t anything. Not yet.
But somehow, it still hurt.
He exhaled and muttered to himself, “This isn’t supposed to mean anything.”
Then why does it feel like everything?
- Writer
