My campus life

chapter 7 Library tension

The campus library had never felt this quiet. Rain whispered against the tall glass windows, drumming a soft rhythm that blended with the low hum of fluorescent lamps overhead. Olivia had been staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes, pretending to read, while her mind wandered in a chaotic spiral.

Across the table, Ethan Gray tapped his pen in perfect rhythm with the rain, his movements precise and deliberate. “You’re not focusing,” he said casually, without even looking up from his notes.

She rolled her eyes, letting a small smirk slip. “Neither are you,” she shot back.

He smirked, the kind of half-smile that always left her chest feeling strange, tight in a way that made her forget the paragraph she was supposedly studying. They were supposed to be working on a group project about media ethics, but the tension between them made even silence feel like a conversation. Every glance, every movement, every exhale seemed loaded with unspoken words.

When she finally met his gaze, his expression softened, almost imperceptibly. “Do you ever think we talk more with our eyes than with words?”

Olivia felt her pulse quicken, her pencil hovering uselessly over the page. “Only when you’re staring like that,” she admitted, almost in a whisper.

He looked away quickly, pretending to adjust his notes, the easy confidence he wore earlier dissolving into awkwardness. The clock ticked louder than the rain now, each second emphasizing the electric tension stretching across the table.

Olivia’s mind raced. Why does it feel like he’s reading me? Like he knows the exact moment I’m about to say something stupid? Her fingers twitched nervously, tapping a rhythm on her notebook she didn’t realize she was creating.

Ethan’s pen clicked against the table, a metronome of focus that somehow drew her in, forcing her attention away from the textbook. Why is he so infuriatingly composed? she thought. How does he make staring into his eyes feel like a conversation?

Finally, the library clock chimed, signaling the end of their study period. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, streaking the windows with glimmering drops. Olivia gathered her things, trying not to trip over the stack of books she’d shoved under her arm for protection.

They left the library together, stepping into the damp, earthy air. The world smelled of wet grass, streetlights, and rain-soaked pavement — a scent that somehow felt private, as if this moment existed outside the chaos of Westbridge University.

“Thanks for helping me, even though you barely said five words,” she teased, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly.

“Five meaningful words,” Ethan replied, his tone teasing but calm. “That counts more than fifty empty ones.”

Olivia laughed, a light, nervous sound she didn’t realize she’d been holding in. “You’re impossible,” she said, nudging him lightly with her elbow.

“And yet you’re still walking next to me,” he replied, eyes flicking to hers with that infuriating mixture of warmth and mischief.

There it was again — that invisible line between them. He’d lean close enough that she could hear the warmth in his voice, then retreat like he’d touched fire. Olivia kept pace, her heart thudding, wondering why every step beside him felt like balancing on a tightrope.

Back at the dorms, the hallway smelled faintly of damp jackets and leftover cafeteria pizza. Her roommate Tasha was sprawled on her bed, scrolling through her phone. “You and Ethan again?” she asked without looking up, a teasing edge in her voice.

Olivia froze. “We were… studying,” she muttered, cheeks heating.

Mia, lounging in the chair by the desk, smiled knowingly. “Uh-huh. Studying.”

Olivia grabbed a pillow and hurled it at her, laughing despite herself. “It’s not like that!” she protested.

But later that night, when the hallway lights dimmed and the hum of chatter faded, Olivia couldn’t sleep. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts spiraling. She replayed Ethan’s tone, the subtle flicker of emotion in his eyes, the way he had leaned closer only to retreat again.

Sometimes he looked at her like she was the only person in the room. Other times, like he wished she’d disappear entirely.

The next morning, fate — or coincidence, she told herself — seemed to be in charge. Olivia ran into Ethan outside the journalism building, books tucked under their arms, backpacks hanging unevenly.

“Are you heading to class?” he asked casually.

She nodded. “You?”

“Skipping mine. The professor’s out sick.”

“Wow, a rebel,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, a flash of humor crossing his face. “Only on Tuesdays.”

For a brief second, his smile reached his eyes, lighting them up in a way that made Olivia’s stomach twist. Then his phone buzzed sharply. He glanced at the screen, and the light in his face vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“Everything okay?” she asked, concern threading through her voice.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, locking the phone. “Just… something I have to deal with.”

Before she could ask more, he was already walking away, leaving her standing in the rain-soaked courtyard with only the echo of his half-smile, the rhythm of the droplets, and a thousand unasked questions.

That night, back in the dorm, Olivia opened her notebook and stared at a blank page. Slowly, she wrote his name in the margin. Then she crossed it out.

Lines we can’t cross.

Maybe every friendship had them.

Maybe hers with Ethan was built entirely of them.

And yet, despite her careful erasing, she knew one thing: some lines weren’t meant to be ignored, even if she tried.