Enemies to Lovers

Ember's POV The hallway smelled like floor polish, sweat, and bad decisions. Ember Reyes hadn’t stepped foot in Rosewood High for almost a year, but nothing had changed—same flickering lights overhead that buzzed like bad memories, same dented lockers coated in layers of gum and gossip, same faces pretending they hadn’t buried her alive the last time she was here. She tightened her grip on her coffee, the cardboard sleeve damp with heat. Her fingers shook, but she blamed the caffeine. Just survive the year. Graduate. Get out of Halston. For good. She kept her hoodie up despite the heatwave pressing against the windows like a threat. It wasn’t fashion—it was armor. She didn’t want to be seen, not really. And definitely not remembered. But in a town like Halston, no one ever really forgot anything. People turned when she passed. Some whispered. Others stared like they were waiting for her to snap. She kept her head down, earbuds in, though there was no music playing. Silence felt safer than sound. Her locker hadn’t changed. Still scratched with initials that weren’t hers. Still stuck when she tugged it open. She swore under her breath and yanked harder, metal groaning in protest until it finally gave way. That’s when she heard it. The laugh. Low. Mocking. Familiar. Ash Callahan. Her stomach clenched before her mind even processed his name. But she didn’t turn around. Not yet. Instead, she focused on the mess inside her locker—books from last year still untouched, a faded photo taped to the back wall of her and her brother at the lake. She ripped it down and shoved it in her backpack before anyone could see. She slammed the door shut. Then—too fast—she turned around. Smack. Hot liquid spilled everywhere. Her coffee exploded between her chest and his, dripping down the front of his shirt, splattering across her hands. “s**t,” she gasped, stepping back. Her books hit the floor. Her earbuds dangled uselessly from her neck. And then their eyes met. Of course. Ash Callahan. Tall. Lean. Dangerous in that casual, careless way that made people forget how sharp he really was. He wore a black T-shirt, rings on two fingers, bruises blooming on his knuckles like petals from a past fight. His eyes were darker than she remembered—colder. Or maybe she was just seeing him clearly for the first time. He looked down at his soaked shirt, then back up at her. Slowly. Deliberately. “Well,” he said, dragging the word out like smoke. “This is nostalgic.” Ember swallowed the curse crawling up her throat. “Still standing in the middle of the damn hallway like you own it?” His mouth quirked. “Maybe I do.” She bent down to grab her books, ignoring the heat crawling up her neck. A few students lingered nearby, watching from behind their locker doors, feeding off the tension like vultures circling a fresh kill. “Still running into people like life owes you something?” he added, voice smooth and infuriating. She straightened up. “Still talking like you didn’t ruin everything?” His eyes narrowed. Just for a second. Just enough. “You think I ruined you?” he asked, and this time, his voice wasn’t teasing. She didn’t answer. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He didn’t get to pretend. Not after everything. “Thought you transferred,” he said. “Figured you’d crawl out of Halston like everyone else who can’t hack it here.” “I came back to finish something,” she replied. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Ash stepped in. Close. Too close. She caught a whiff of something beneath the coffee—his cologne, faint and familiar, the kind of memory you hate yourself for keeping. His jaw was clenched now, tension pulsing beneath the skin. “I don’t need to flatter myself, Reyes,” he murmured. “You do it for me just by showing up.” She hated the way her pulse reacted to that voice. Like it remembered how it felt to be seen by him. Touched by him. Destroyed by him. The bell rang, shrill and violent. She shoved past him. Didn’t look back. But Ash did. And for a second—so fast it could’ve been imagined—his mask cracked. There was something in his face as she walked away. Something almost... guilty. But Ash Callahan didn’t do guilt. At least, not the version of him she remembered. Ash's POV Ash didn’t believe in ghosts. But when Ember Reyes turned around and slammed straight into him, he felt like he’d seen one. Hot coffee soaked through his shirt, sticky and burning. Books hit the floor. People turned. And she looked at him like she wanted to burn the world down—starting with him. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t let his smirk waver, even though his chest tightened like a fist around a knife. It’d been a year since he last saw her, but nothing had changed. Except her eyes. Colder. Sharper. Guarded like hell. He liked them better that way. “Well,” he said, voice cool. “This is nostalgic.” It wasn’t. It was war. She fired back without missing a beat, mouth quick, venomous. God, he forgot how fast she was. How when she was mad, she didn’t yell—she carved. Still, he played his part. He leaned in when she got tense. Got close when she tried to escape. Because Ash Callahan didn’t run. He didn’t beg. And he definitely didn’t show that her voice had landed like a punch to the ribs. You think I ruined you? The words hung there, heavier than he meant. She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. He watched her walk away. Her black hoodie swayed around her like a cloak, and her shoulders were so stiff it made something ache deep in his chest. He could’ve called after her. Apologized. Said something real. But Ash didn’t do real. Not anymore. Instead, he stood there, soaked in bitter coffee and regret, watching the girl he broke vanish into the crowd again. And yeah. Maybe ghosts were real after all.