Shadows By The Poolside

The First Scar

Nearly two months had slipped by since the beginning of university, and what had once felt unfamiliar had gradually become routine. The towering lecture halls no longer seemed intimidating, the endless maze of walkways had become second nature, and the campus that had overwhelmed them on their first day now carried a strange sense of belonging.

Each of them had quietly settled into university life in their own way.

Bryson Reed had quickly become known around campus for his talent on the basketball court, though his mischievous personality often earned him just as much attention as his athletic ability. Noah Carter spent most of his free time within the Faculty of Fine Arts, where sketchbooks, paint-stained fingers and quiet galleries had become as familiar to him as home. Maxwell Hayes continued to excel academically, earning the admiration of both lecturers and classmates with his remarkable discipline and calm leadership.

As for Arielle Thompson…

She had found her place among words.

The Writers’ Society welcomed students from every faculty, yet Arielle’s stories had begun attracting attention long before the semester reached its halfway point. Her ability to weave emotion into ordinary moments earned praise from senior members of the society, and more than once she had arrived at the clubroom to discover students discussing one of her short stories pinned proudly to the noticeboard.

She still insisted she had much to learn.

Others believed she had already found the gift she had spent years searching for.

University, however, had not only given each of them a dream to pursue—it had quietly begun reshaping the relationships they had carried from childhood.

Noah and Emily, who had reunited on their first day of university, had become almost inseparable within the Fine Arts programme. Whenever lectures ended early, they could often be found beneath the old oak trees overlooking the sculpture garden, sketchbooks balanced across their laps as they debated colour, perspective and imagination.

Emily possessed a remarkable eye for detail.

Noah admired the way she could turn an ordinary landscape into something extraordinary with only a pencil.

“You always shade too carefully,” Emily teased one afternoon, glancing at his sketch.

“I prefer patience.”

“You overthink.”

“I refine.”

She laughed softly.

“Those are two very different things.”

“They’re practically the same.”

“They’re not.”

Their easy laughter drifted through the quiet garden before Emily noticed Noah’s attention wandering elsewhere.

Following his gaze, she spotted Arielle crossing the courtyard with several members of the Writers’ Society, animatedly discussing an upcoming publication for the university magazine.

Emily looked back at Noah.

His expression had changed only slightly, so slightly that almost anyone else would have missed it.

There was no longing in his eyes anymore.

Only the faint echo of something he had once carried.

Years ago, Noah had planned to confess how deeply he cared for Arielle. Instead, she had smiled with complete sincerity, called him the brother she wished she had been born with, and unknowingly buried feelings he had never found the courage to reveal.

Those feelings had long since been folded away and locked somewhere deep within his heart.

Whenever they threatened to resurface, he reminded himself of the same simple truth.

Arielle had never looked at him that way.

She never would.

And strangely…

That no longer hurt as much as it once had.

If being her brother was the place she had chosen for him in her life, then he intended to honour it with everything he had.

Emily quietly closed her sketchbook.

“You should tell her congratulations.”

Noah blinked.

“For what?”

“I heard her story is being considered for the university magazine.”

A proud smile spread across his face.

“She deserves it.”

Emily studied him for another brief moment before smiling to herself.

Some stories, she realised, ended long before anyone admitted they had.

Elsewhere on campus, another friendship had begun changing almost without either person noticing.

The university library had become Maxwell and Arielle’s favourite place to study. At first, their sessions had been purely practical. Maxwell excelled at research and academic organisation, while Arielle possessed an imagination that transformed facts into compelling ideas. Together, they complemented one another remarkably well.

Over time, those quiet afternoons became something both of them unconsciously anticipated.

Maxwell no longer spoke to Arielle as though she were the youngest member of their little group.

Somewhere between secondary school and university, she had become someone whose opinions he genuinely valued.

“So,” Maxwell said, looking up from the pile of reference books spread across the table, “what do you think?”

Arielle rested her chin lightly against her hand.

“I think your argument is too careful.”

His eyebrows rose.

“Too careful?”

“You’ve proven your point.”

“I thought that was the idea.”

“It is.”

She smiled.

“But great writing doesn’t only prove something.”

“It persuades?”

“It makes people feel something.”

Maxwell studied her thoughtfully before nodding.

“I hadn’t considered that.”

“You should.”

“You sound remarkably confident.”

“I’ve been reading.”

“You’ve been reading since you were thirteen.”

She laughed.

“I suppose that’s true.”

Maxwell slid a printed copy of one of her recent stories across the table.

“I finished this last night.”

Arielle immediately sat straighter.

“You actually read it?”

“I promised I would.”

“And?”

Instead of answering immediately, Maxwell tapped the final page thoughtfully.

“Your descriptions are stronger than they were six months ago.”

Her shoulders relaxed.

“But…”

“There is no but.”

She blinked.

“It’s genuinely good, Arielle.”

A faint blush coloured her cheeks.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it because I have to.”

His voice remained calm and sincere.

“I’m saying it because I believe one day someone will walk into a bookstore, pick up a novel with your name on the cover, and wonder how they managed to live without reading it sooner.”

For a brief moment, Arielle forgot how to respond.

It wasn’t merely the compliment that caught her off guard.

It was the certainty with which he spoke.

Maxwell never offered empty encouragement.

If he believed in something, he believed in it completely.

She lowered her eyes, smiling despite herself.

“You always know exactly what to say.”

“No.”

He smiled gently.

“I just tell the truth.”

Neither of them noticed the small ink stain resting against Arielle’s cheek until Maxwell reached forward instinctively.

“You’ve got something…”

His fingers brushed lightly across her cheek before he pulled away, holding up the faint smear of blue ink on his thumb.

“There.”

Arielle laughed, almost embarrassed.

“I didn’t even realise.”

“You rarely do.”

Their laughter blended so naturally that neither realised someone had been watching from the library entrance.

Bryson had originally come looking for them because the four of them had planned to meet for lunch after the morning lectures.

Instead, he found himself standing quietly between the shelves, unnoticed.

From where he stood, Arielle laughed more freely than he had seen in weeks.

Not the polite laugh she gave classmates.

Not the playful laugh she reserved for his terrible jokes.

This one was different.

Comfortable.

Effortless.

Maxwell smiled back at her with the same quiet warmth he always carried, and for reasons Bryson couldn’t explain, the sight left an uncomfortable weight settling somewhere deep inside his chest.

He had seen Arielle admire Maxwell for years.

Everyone had.

Maxwell was dependable, intelligent and endlessly patient.

But this…

This felt different.

Bryson frowned.

No.

He was imagining things.

He had to be.

After all, they had always been close.

Hadn’t they?

He exhaled quietly before forcing a smile onto his face and finally making his presence known.

“There you two are,” he said lightly. “I’ve been searching everywhere.”

Arielle looked up immediately.

“Bryson.”

“You promised lunch, remember?”

She laughed.

“I didn’t forget.”

“Good.”

He glanced between the two of them.

“The others should be done with lectures in another hour.”

Closing her notebook, Arielle rose from her chair and adjusted the strap of her bag.

“I still have one lecture left.”

“I know.”

Bryson smiled easily, masking every uncomfortable thought that had crossed his mind only moments earlier.

“I’ll wait outside your lecture hall like I always do. Then we’ll meet Noah and Maxwell afterwards.”

Arielle returned the smile without the slightest hesitation.

“Deal.”

She picked up her books before hurrying toward the library doors, waving once before disappearing into the bustling corridor beyond.

Bryson watched her leave for only a second before following behind.

Neither of them realised that something as ordinary as waiting outside a lecture hall would soon become the beginning of a story none of them were prepared to live through.

*********

The afternoon sun hung heavily over the Faculty of History, bathing the stone buildings in a warm golden glow. Students streamed out of lecture halls in lively clusters, their conversations weaving into a constant murmur that echoed across the courtyard. Some hurried toward their next class, while others lingered beneath the shade of old maple trees, laughing over unfinished conversations.

Bryson Reed stood quietly beside one of the stone pillars outside the lecture hall.

His arms were folded across his chest, though every few seconds his eyes swept across the crowd emerging from the building. Waiting for Arielle after lectures had become an unspoken routine between them. More often than not, he reached her classroom before Noah and Maxwell finished theirs, and together they would head to lunch while waiting for the others.

He never considered it a responsibility.

It was simply something he had always done.

The familiar sight of Arielle finally emerged from the crowd. A folder was pressed against her chest, and loose strands of hair framed her face after escaping the ribbon that held the rest behind her head. She looked tired, though the gentle smile she wore as she chatted briefly with one of her classmates softened the exhaustion in her features.

Bryson straightened almost instinctively.

“Ariel!.”

She looked up immediately, smiling when she spotted him.

“You’ve been waiting long?”

“Not really.”

Before either of them could say another word, a smooth, unfamiliar voice interrupted.

“You’re Arielle Thompson, aren’t you?”

Both of them turned.

Standing a few steps away was a tall young man dressed in a neatly pressed university jacket, confidence written plainly across his face. His smile was effortlessly charming, the sort that had earned admiration from some students and suspicion from many others.

Damian Cole.

A third-year student.

His reputation had travelled across campus long before Arielle had learned where the library was. Stories about him were whispered in dormitories and cafeterias alike—how he pursued first-year girls with polished compliments, only to abandon them as quickly as he found them.

In one hand, Damian held a printed copy of a short story.

Arielle recognised it immediately.

It was the story she had submitted to the Writers’ Society only a week earlier.

“I finally had the chance to read this,” Damian said, holding up the pages with an approving smile. “You’ve got real talent. I wasn’t expecting something this mature from a first-year student.”

Arielle accepted the compliment with a polite nod.

“Thank you.”

“It surprised me,” Damian continued, taking another step closer. “Dark themes, strong emotion… you write like someone much older.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

He smiled again.

Damian didn’t miss it. He grinned wider. “We should talk more, I’d love to hear where you get your ideas. Maybe over coffee? I know a quiet spot off campus—“

“Ari.”

Bryson’s voice cut calmly through Damian’s invitation.

“Let’s go.”

He stepped between them, placing himself naturally at Arielle’s side before gently reaching for her hand. She accepted without hesitation, relieved by the interruption.

Damian’s pleasant expression hardened almost imperceptibly.

“And you are?”

Bryson finally looked directly at him.

His voice remained level.

“Someone telling you to leave her alone.”

A small laugh escaped Damian.

“Really?”

His eyes shifted toward Arielle.

“Can you not speak for yourself?”

“It’s alright,” Arielle replied quickly, sensing the tension rising between them. She lightly tugged at Bryson’s sleeve. “Come on. Let’s just go.”

Bryson nodded once and turned away with her.

For one brief moment, it seemed the confrontation had ended before it truly began.

Then Damian spoke again.

His voice was quiet.

Mocking.

Just loud enough for Bryson to hear.

“Go on…”

He chuckled beneath his breath.

“…follow your little scunt!.”

Everything stopped.

Arielle felt Bryson’s hand go rigid in hers.

“No…”

She barely whispered the word.

“Bryson, don’t.”

He slowly released her hand.

The expression on his face had changed completely.

Without another word, he turned back.

The distance between them disappeared in two quick strides.

His fist connected with Damian’s jaw with enough force to send him stumbling backwards.

The courtyard erupted.

Students gasped.

Someone screamed.

Several phones appeared almost instantly.

Damian recovered quickly, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth before launching himself at Bryson. The two crashed into the ground, trading punches in a flurry of anger and adrenaline that neither seemed willing to control.

“Stop!”

Arielle’s voice was swallowed by the growing crowd.

She tried pushing through the circle of students, but bodies continued closing around the fight.

Across the courtyard, Maxwell Hayes and Noah Carter had just stepped out of their afternoon lecture.

“What happened?” Noah asked, noticing the commotion.

Maxwell’s eyes searched the crowd.

Then he saw Bryson.

Bryson was pinned to the ground.

Damian was on top of him.

Without waiting for an explanation, Maxwell broke into a run.

He forced his way through the students before grabbing Damian firmly by the shoulders and pulling him away from Bryson with surprising strength.

“Enough!”

Bryson staggered to his feet, blood running freely from a split lip.

Noah reached them only seconds later.

The moment he saw the blood, every question disappeared from his mind.

His fist struck Damian squarely across the jaw.

“How dare you lay a finger on him!”

The crowd exploded with fresh excitement.

Some students shouted for them to stop.

Others continued recording.

Within moments, a commanding voice thundered across the courtyard.

“That’s enough!”

Professor Hale from the History Department emerged from the building accompanied by two campus security officers.

The students scattered almost immediately.

Security separated the four young men while Professor Hale surveyed the scene with visible disappointment.

Bryson’s knuckles were scraped raw.

Damian nursed a fresh cut above his eyebrow.

Noah’s shirt had been torn at the sleeve.

Maxwell stood between them, breathing heavily but making no attempt to defend himself.

Only Arielle remained exactly where she had been from the beginning.

Frozen.

Unable to believe how quickly an ordinary afternoon had collapsed into chaos.

Professor Hale adjusted his glasses before speaking firmly.

“All of you.”

His gaze swept across the group.

“Dean’s office. Immediately.”

⸻

Silence settled heavily over the Dean’s office.

The smell of polished wood and ageing books filled the room as the four students sat opposite the Dean’s desk, each avoiding the other’s eyes.

Damian broke the silence first.

“He attacked me,” he said, pressing a tissue against his eyebrow. “I was simply complimenting Miss Thompson’s writing.”

The Dean looked toward Bryson.

“Is that true?”

Bryson didn’t hesitate.

“He insulted Arielle.”

The Dean turned toward Noah.

“And you?”

Noah glanced at Bryson’s swollen lip before answering without the slightest regret.

“He hit Bryson.”

He pointed quietly.

“Look at his mouth. He’s bleeding.”

Maxwell released a slow breath before leaning forward.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Things escalated before any of us could stop them. We accept responsibility for what happened.”

The Dean removed her glasses and rubbed her temples.

“A fight involving three first-year students in broad daylight.”

Her eyes settled briefly on Arielle.

“And all because of one young woman.”

Arielle lowered her gaze.

She still hadn’t spoken.

After a long pause, the Dean sighed.

“You are all dismissed for now.”

Relief flickered across their faces.

“But this matter is far from over.”

Her tone hardened.

“There will be a formal investigation. Until then, I expect every one of you to conduct yourselves appropriately. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

⸻

By the following morning, the incident had become the university’s favourite conversation.

Long before Arielle reached her first lecture, she could feel eyes following her through the campus.

The whispers began almost immediately.

“I heard three guys fought over her.”

“They’re not even related.”

“Exactly. Carter, Reed and Hayes. Completely different surnames.”

A girl sighed dramatically.

“I wish three handsome boys would fight over me.”

Another laughed.

“That isn’t romantic.”

“No?”

“It’s creepy.”

A quieter voice drifted through the group.

“Or maybe she’s dating all three of them.”

The words settled heavily in Arielle’s chest.

She tightened her grip on the books she carried and kept walking without looking back.

For the first time since arriving at university, she wished no one knew her name.

Not because she had done anything wrong.

But because everyone else had already decided that she had.

She quickened her pace toward the library, blinking rapidly against the sting gathering behind her eyes.

The whispers followed her long after she had disappeared from view.

Elsewhere across the campus, three young men sat separately with bruised faces, disciplinary warnings, and no idea that yesterday’s fight had already begun changing how the university saw them.

Years later…

When Arielle Thompson’s name became the centre of a murder investigation…

Many people would remember that afternoon.

The afternoon when three boys fought over one girl.

And some would quietly wonder whether the violence had truly ended there.