After lectures

Ava Montgomery had mastered control long before she stepped foot on campus. Control over her emotions. Control over her image. Control over her future. That was what came with being an only child born into wealth, expectation, and a family name that opened doors without knocking. People saw the polished version of her—the calm confidence, the perfectly pressed outfits, the effortless beauty. They never saw the constant pressure humming beneath her skin. Today, though, control was slipping. She checked her watch for the third time as she crossed the courtyard, irritation tightening her grip on the leather strap of her bag. Ten minutes late. She hated being late. It made her feel exposed, like the world could see cracks in her carefully constructed composure. The campus buzzed with movement—students laughing, arguing, dragging suitcases, greeting old friends after the long break. The air smelled like coffee, fresh grass, and possibility. Ava barely noticed. Her heels clicked sharply against the pavement as she cut through the crowd, eyes fixed ahead. The lecture hall loomed in the distance, tall and imposing, and she calculated—if she walked faster, maybe she could slip in unnoticed. She rounded the corner too quickly. And collided with someone solid. The impact knocked the breath from her chest. Her bag slipped from her shoulder, books spilling across the walkway. She stumbled back, embarrassment flaring hot and immediate. Strong hands caught her arms. “Whoa,” a male voice said. Low. Calm. Unbothered. Ava froze. Not because she needed help—she didn’t—but because of the way his grip felt. Steady. Unapologetic. Like he wasn’t worried about whether she needed saving or not. She pulled away sharply. “I’m fine.” “Didn’t say you weren’t.” That tone. She looked up. And everything slowed. He was taller than she expected, broad-shouldered, dressed casually in dark jeans and a fitted T-shirt that looked unfairly good on him. His jaw was sharp, lips relaxed in what looked dangerously close to a smile. His eyes—dark and observant—met hers without apology. He didn’t rush to help her gather her things. Didn’t fluster. Didn’t apologize excessively. He just watched her. “I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Ava said stiffly, kneeling to collect her books. Her cheeks burned, though she refused to let it show. “Clearly,” he replied. She glanced up, glare sharp. “Excuse me?” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Relax. I’m teasing.” She didn’t relax. Ava stood, brushing invisible dust from her skirt. “Maybe try standing out of people’s way next time.” “Interesting logic,” he said mildly. “Considering you ran into me.” She hated that he wasn’t defensive. Hated that he looked amused. “Do you always argue with strangers?” she asked. “Only the interesting ones.” Her heart did something traitorous. She ignored it. “I’m late,” she muttered, shifting her bag. “Same.” She paused. “For what?” “First lecture of the semester. Advanced Political Ethics.” Her stomach dropped. That was her class. She stared at him more carefully now. Final-year energy clung to him—the relaxed confidence of someone who’d survived campus politics and didn’t fear anything anymore. “Figures,” she said. “Why?” he asked, stepping aside to let a group of students pass. “Because my luck is terrible today.” He laughed then. A quiet, deep sound that slid down her spine uninvited. “I’m Jaxon,” he said, offering nothing but his name. She hesitated before responding. “Ava.” “Ava,” he repeated, like he was tasting it. “Nice collision.” She scoffed and walked past him. He followed. They entered the lecture hall together. The room buzzed with chatter, seats filling quickly. The lecturer—a stern woman with sharp glasses—paused mid-sentence as they slipped in. “You’re late,” she said flatly. “Won’t happen again,” Jaxon replied smoothly. Ava slid into a seat near the middle, shoulders tight. A second later, the seat beside her shifted. Of course he chose that one. She stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him. “You look like you bite,” he whispered. She didn’t turn. “You look like trouble.” “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me today.” She finally glanced at him, irritation flaring. “Can you not talk during lectures?” He leaned back casually. “Relax. I learn better when I’m entertained.” “Then entertain yourself.” His eyes lingered on her profile. “I am.” Heat crept up her neck. The lecture began, words filling the hall, but Ava struggled to focus. She was acutely aware of him—his presence heavy, distracting. His knee brushed hers when he shifted, and the contact sent a sharp jolt through her body. She pulled away slightly. Jaxon noticed. “Sorry,” he murmured, though his expression suggested he wasn’t at all. By the time the lecture ended, Ava’s nerves were frayed. She packed her bag quickly, standing as soon as dismissal was announced. “Running away already?” Jaxon asked. “I don’t linger.” “Shame.” She turned. “Why?” “Because I was enjoying this.” “This?” she gestured between them. “Annoyance?” “Chemistry,” he corrected. She laughed incredulously. “You’re full of yourself.” “Confidence looks like that sometimes.” She shook her head and walked out. But her heart didn’t calm. ⸻ The rumors started fast. They always did when Jaxon Reed was involved. By lunch, Ava had heard whispers—about his reputation, his exes, his temper, the fights he’d walked away from with bloodied knuckles and unapologetic smiles. About how he didn’t do relationships. About how he always left first. She told herself she didn’t care. But when she spotted him across the cafeteria, laughing with friends, posture relaxed like the world bent around him, her chest tightened. Their eyes met briefly. He smiled. She looked away too quickly. That evening, Ava retreated to the library, her sanctuary. Silence wrapped around her as she settled into a corner table, textbooks spread neatly. She exhaled, tension easing. Control restored. Or so she thought. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” Her spine stiffened. She didn’t look up. “You should stop doing that.” “Doing what?” “Appearing.” He dropped into the chair across from her without invitation. “You follow me now?” she asked. He shrugged. “Maybe I like your scowl.” She closed her book sharply. “What do you want?” “To study,” he said lightly. “Same class, remember?” She hesitated, then reopened her book. “Don’t distract me.” “I wouldn’t dare.” But he did. Not intentionally—at least, not entirely. His presence filled the quiet space, awareness buzzing between them. When he leaned closer to see a page, his arm brushed hers. She inhaled sharply. He noticed. “Still biting?” he murmured. She met his gaze then. Really met it. And for a moment, something unspoken passed between them. Dangerous. Electric. “This is a bad idea,” she said quietly. “Most good things start that way.” She should have stood up. Should have walked away. Instead, she stayed. And somewhere deep inside, Ava Montgomery realized her carefully controlled world had just begun to crack.