The Silence Between Us

Chapter 3

Xavier’s Perspective :



Xavier leaned back in his chair, the buzz of campus life just outside the open window. The common room in their dorm was filled with noise—music thumping from someone’s speaker, half-empty soda bottles, and the loud, easy laughter of boys who thought the world was theirs for the taking.

"Freshman week,” his friend Caleb said, grinning. “The real hunting season.”

“Man,” Theo chimed in, tossing a rubber ball against the wall, “these new girls don’t know what’s coming. They look at you like you’re some kind of god.”

Xavier smirked. “Only because you’re the tallest guy here, Theo. Give them a week and they’ll realize you're all legs and no brain.”

The room roared with laughter.

“Speaking of gods,” Caleb said, nudging Xavier’s foot with his, “what about you, X? You bagging anyone this semester or still stuck being emotionally unavailable?”

“Depends,” Xavier replied, eyes on his phone. “What’s the challenge?”

That was how it always started—with a joke, a dare, a casual cruelty passed off as banter.

Theo leaned forward. “Alright, how about this: first one to get a freshman girl to fall for him wins. She’s gotta say she loves you. Three weeks. Loser buys dinner for the whole group.”

Caleb laughed. “Make it juicier. She’s gotta sleep with you. And mean it.”

Xavier raised an eyebrow. “That’s dark, even for you.”

Caleb shrugged. “You’re the one who usually wins these things. Should be easy for you.”

Xavier didn’t reply immediately. He just looked out the window at the courtyard below, where dozens of new students were walking through campus, wide-eyed and full of hope. He saw them every year—idealistic, excited, fresh.

And then he saw her.

Marilyn.

She was standing alone by the orientation hall entrance, clutching a folder like it was her lifeline. She looked lost—quiet, uncertain, completely out of place. Her eyes scanned the crowd nervously, and she tugged at her sleeve as if trying to disappear.

She was nothing like the girls who usually threw themselves at him. She was soft. Simple. Sweet.

Perfect.

Xavier tilted his head, watching her for a moment longer before slowly smiling.

“I’m in,” he said.

Theo chuckled. “Oh damn. Xavier’s activated.”

Caleb grinned. “That one? You sure? She looks like she reads poetry and cries at animal videos.”

“All the better,” Xavier murmured.

That afternoon, he made his move.

It wasn’t hard—nothing ever was for him. He had charm like armor, and a smile that made people drop their guard. When he approached Marilyn and saw her eyes widen with surprise, he knew he already had her attention. The way she spoke—careful, polite, a little shy—told him she hadn’t dealt with anyone like him before.

Perfect.

What started as a dare became a pattern.

He’d walk her to class. Sit beside her during lectures. Steal her attention from textbooks with jokes and teasing comments. Every time she looked at him with that quiet trust, he felt the power of it—how easy it was to mold her emotions, how completely she believed in him.

His friends watched it all unfold with amusement.

“She’s falling,” Theo said one evening as they passed her in the hallway and she waved at Xavier with that hopeful smile.

“Damn, she looks at you like you’re the second coming,” Caleb added.

Xavier didn’t reply. He just nodded coolly and kept walking.

But something had started to shift inside him.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. She wasn’t supposed to matter. But sometimes, when she laughed at one of his dumb jokes or looked at him like he was more than he really was, something tightened in his chest. Something uncomfortable. Something almost… real.

And that bothered him.

Because real meant vulnerability. And Xavier didn’t do vulnerable.

Not after what happened with his mother. Not after the day he came home from school and found his house full of sirens and neighbors whispering. Not after Lucas shut down and their father turned colder than winter. Since then, Xavier had learned to survive behind charm, sarcasm, and meaningless distractions. Girls were just temporary escapes. Nothing ever lasted. Nothing ever would.

So why did this one feel different?

He caught himself watching Marilyn when she wasn’t looking—when she was laughing with her roommate, when she bit her lip while studying, when she brushed her hair behind her ear and squinted in concentration. He noticed the way she always offered the last piece of chocolate. The way she never interrupted. The way she always listened, even when he spoke nonsense just to fill the silence.

And worst of all—she made him feel seen.

It scared him.

But fear wasn’t something he knew how to deal with. So he doubled down. Smiled harder. Held her closer. Kissed her like he meant it. All while the clock ticked on the bet none of them were talking about anymore.

Because now it wasn’t about winning.

It was about not knowing what he was doing anymore.