When Hate Feels Like Love

Chapter Six: Heisenberg’s Principle

Oliver Clarke's POV

Days passed quickly, and before I knew it, it was already Thursday.

The acquaintance party was the day after tomorrow, Saturday, so everything had to be perfect. We stayed on the campus late that night, practicing until our voices were hoarse, and our legs were sore. Tomorrow, we'll be finalizing everything: the venue, the program flow, the decorations—every last detail. No room for error.

"One more time." My voice echoed across the practice room. "This is a simple performance; it's not even 3 minutes long. Matt, you're way offbeat. Hazel, you're still missing your mark. Kyle, can you at least pretend to be enthusiastic? And Harrison—"

I paused, eyes locking onto hers. She stared back with that same defiant look, arms crossed, chin tilted just slightly in challenge. I sighed. "Let's take five."

A collective exhale filled the room.

"Thank God," Hazel muttered.

"I would've collapsed if we went one more round," another groaned, already collapsing onto the floor.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "How overbearing."

I didn’t flinch at the comment. Those petty things didn’t bother me. I led with the mindset that we weren’t here to be friends. We were classmates with the same goal: to make this event a success. It looks good on our résumés. That’s it.

That’s the reason everyone joins the student body council anyway. It’s every person for themselves.

But Willow glanced their way, just for a second, and I caught it. That flicker of discomfort before she masked it with a tight smile.

When she was president, she tried too hard to please everyone. Always checking if people felt included, making sure no one was too pressured, too tired, or too anything. She’d bend over backward just to keep things smooth.

Willow Harrison was too soft. She’d rather do all the work herself than be criticized. I hated that about her.

Matt came up to me and tossed a homemade sandwich into my hands. It was a little soggy now, it had probably been in his bag for hours. “It’s late,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “We could all use some food.”

I hesitated.

As much as I wanted to eat it, I couldn’t bring myself to take a bite. I never told anyone this, but I hated accepting food from other people. Not because I was picky or ungrateful—no. It was because of my family background and the number of people who’ve tried to kill us over the years.

We had enemies everywhere. Trust is a luxury rich people can never afford.

Willow walked over without a word. She didn’t even ask, just grabbed the sandwich from my hands and took a bite.

“Oh, that’s good,” she said with a small smile, chewing like it was no big deal. “Wheat bread, tomato, lettuce, egg, mayo, some sriracha, and onions. No nuts.”

I stared at her.

"Why would I put nuts in my sandwich?" Matt looked at her confused, but she just smiled and gave the sandwich back to me.

Nuts.

The one thing I was allergic to. The one thing that could actually kill me. She was casually listing every ingredient, like she wasn’t doing anything significant. Like she hadn’t just checked the sandwich for me the way she always did.

She took the first bite, like instinct. Like she was saying that it's safe for me to eat it.

And maybe that’s what messed with me most.

Because I knew Willow Harrison was too soft.

But this? This was something else entirely. Because it was something she had done only for me, unknowingly, like it was second nature. Like she was messing with me.

I didn’t eat the sandwich right away.

It just sat in my hands, a little squished now from all the back and forth but still warm from where she’d held it.

We learned it in high school. The Heisenberg Principle: You can’t measure something without disturbing it.

It made sense in physics. Somehow, it made more sense with her.

Because the more I tried to define what Willow was, what I hated about her and how she somehow managed to flip those things into what I least hated about her, the less clear she became.

It was frustrating. She is the most unpredictable thing in my world and I couldn't stand it.

“Oliver,” someone called from the other side of the room. It was Matt, half-lounging on the floor, waving a piece of paper in the air. “Can we finalize the program now, or are you still having a staring contest with Willow?”

Laughter followed. Light, teasing. Probably harmless.

But I saw Willow freeze for a second. Just a second. Then she looked back at me, her eyes cautious, like she wasn’t sure whether to brace herself or roll them. She scoffed, low under her breath, “What?”

“I wasn’t staring,” I said flatly. “I was looking at the clock behind her. It’s late. Let’s have one last run and head home.”

Kyle snorted. “Oh, looks like you're going home elsewhere, Oliver.”

He nodded toward the open hallway, where a girl leaned by the door frame, phone in hand, scrolling. I couldn’t remember her name or who she was, maybe someone from our department or a plus-one from one of last week’s events but I didn’t bother correcting him.

Any distraction would be better than thinking of Willow Harrison.

After that, I headed back home late—around 2 a.m. or so. I’d stopped by some girl’s apartment and left before she could even notice. Her name slipped my mind, like most things I didn’t plan to keep.

The house was dark, except for the soft blue glow of the study room.

My father was still awake, hunched over his laptop, eyes fixed on some spreadsheet or stock chart that looked identical to the one from last week. He didn’t bother looking up when I walked in. “Where have you been? It’s late,” he said, voice clipped, like it was the end of a sentence he’d rehearsed a hundred times.

“We had practice for the acquaintance party. I’m the student body president now—”

He scoffed, loud enough to slice through the rest of my sentence. “Your older brother, Cameron, is at Brown University studying medicine. Top of his class. A genius prodigy who doesn’t waste our generational wealth on something stupid like parties and costumes and women.”

I keep quiet. I didn’t respond right away. I just stood there, hands stuffed in my jacket pockets, pretending like his words didn’t land anywhere.

Like they didn’t sound exactly like the things I told myself when no one was around.

I nodded once, slowly. “I know.” How could I not? He reminds me every day.

“We don’t expect much from you. We don’t expect you to live up to your brother’s success,” my father continued, not even glancing at me. “But at least be half of what he’s achieved. You carry our last name, at least give do something to deserve it."

He took a long sip of whatever he had in his glass, scotch, probably, and set it down with a dull clink. “I couldn’t care less if you brought home a different girl each day or spent an entire week’s allowance in one night, as long as I saw results. Progress means nothing if the result isn’t desirable.”

I looked at the floor, at the faint scuff marks on the corner of the desk where Cameron used to study. They were still there, like shadows that didn’t fade with time.

"I understand." I just muttered and turned away before he could say anything else.

My father had always measured worth by outcome, not effort. He wasn't the type to say, “It’s fine, at least you tried.” No, he believed trying meant nothing if you didn’t win. If there wasn’t a trophy, a medal, or a title to bring home, then the effort was as good as wasted breath.

Cameron was everything he ever wanted in a son; top of his class, medical track at Brown, already speaking at symposiums before he turned twenty. The family prodigy. The benchmark. The one whose name was always spoken in rooms I had to earn my way into.

That’s why I made up my mind to aim for Harvard. It was the only way to step out of Cameron’s shadow. To have something that was mine. Something arguably better. Sharper. Louder.

And that’s exactly why I couldn’t fall in love with Willow Harrison.

Because she had her heart set on Brown, and I would never go there.

Heisenberg’s principle is the idea that the more you try to observe something, the more you change it.

That's Willow Harrison.

I need to stop thinking about her. Need to stop staring.

Because the longer I do, the more I start to unravel.

And if I unravel, I lose.

And this is the competition I will never want to lose.