Chapter 3
694 Words
By Friday afternoon, the campus library buzzed like a hive. Ivy sat at a corner table surrounded by books, waiting for Asher.
She had told him two o’clock. It was two-thirty.
He arrived at two-thirty-one, carrying iced coffee and wearing a guilty grin.
“Traffic,” he said.
“From your bedroom to here?” she asked dryly.
“Brutal commute.”
He slid the coffee toward her. “Peace offering.”
She eyed the label. “Extra shot of espresso?”
“I pay attention.”
That surprised her more than it should have. She took a sip before she could stop herself. “Fine. You’re forgiven. A little.”
⸻
They spread out notebooks, brainstorming ideas for their presentation on ‘Perception and Self-Image in Modern Media.’
Ivy talked in structured sentences; Asher sketched diagrams on the back of napkins.
Somewhere between academic theory and his doodles, the work started to click.
“You actually get this,” she said.
He shrugged. “I listen more than you think.”
She studied him over the rim of her coffee. “You really do, don’t you?”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” he said, smiling. “I’m more than a pretty face and a killer playlist.”
Her laugh escaped before she could swallow it. The sound seemed to please him; he leaned back, hands behind his head.
⸻
The next day, they met again—this time at a café off campus.
It became easier to talk when they weren’t tripping over each other in the apartment.
She told him about growing up in Seattle, how she’d always been the reliable one, the fixer.
He told her about moving every couple of years with his dad’s band, how music was the only constant.
“I guess we balance each other,” he said. “You build walls; I kick them down.”
“I prefer to call them boundaries.”
He grinned. “Semantics.”
⸻
A week later, Ivy caught herself waiting for his text messages.
He sent her random memes, music links, and late-night “you still awake?” notes that made her heart do a strange, light flutter.
When she told Naomi, her best friend, Naomi raised an eyebrow.
“Careful,” she warned. “That’s step-sibling territory. Complicated with a capital C.”
“I know,” Ivy said quickly. “We’re just… getting along.”
But the next time Asher brushed a strand of hair from her face during their study session, “getting along” felt like a lie she wanted to believe.
⸻
That weekend, Westbrook held its annual Fall Festival on the campus lawn.
Fairy lights twinkled, food trucks lined the walkways, and a student band played under the gazebo. Asher’s band.
Ivy went with Naomi, pretending she was there for the funnel cake.
When Asher spotted her in the crowd, his grin widened. “Dedicated fan now?”
“Accidental bystander,” she called back, but she stayed.
He sang a slower song that night—one she hadn’t heard before. The lyrics weren’t about parties or freedom; they were quiet, hopeful.
When he looked at her during the chorus, her breath caught.
Naomi elbowed her. “Oh, you’re gone, girl.”
“I am not,” Ivy protested weakly, but her eyes didn’t leave the stage.
⸻
After the show, Asher found her near the food stalls.
“You liked it?” he asked.
“It was decent,” she said, failing to hide a smile.
“High praise from you.”
They walked back toward the apartment together, the path lined with string lights and the hum of distant laughter.
For once, silence between them felt easy.
When they reached their door, Asher hesitated. “Thanks for coming. It meant… more than you think.”
Ivy met his gaze. “Don’t get used to it.”
But her voice was softer than she intended, and he noticed.
⸻
That night, Ivy lay awake, replaying the song in her head.
She didn’t know what scared her more—the idea of falling for Asher, or the possibility that she already was.
- Writer
