The art of falling

THE WINDOWS BETWEEN US

I stared at the photo for a long time.

The sketch was unmistakable. My pencil strokes, the faint smudge where my hand had pressed too hard on the curve of his wrist it was mine. But the angle of the shot chilled me. It had been taken through my window, just minutes ago.

My blinds were half-closed. I hadn’t turned on the main light. Whoever took the picture must’ve been watching, waiting. My heart pounded against my ribs like a warning drum.

My fingers shook as I double-checked the locks on my windows. Then the door. Everything was shut, but that didn’t make me feel safer. My hands itched to text Kieran, to tell him everything, but I hesitated. What if the message was about him?

I sat on the edge of my bed, gripping my phone like it was the only solid thing left. The room felt colder now, shadows lengthening as my mind spiraled.

Who had sent the message?

And how did they get that photo?

When I finally fell asleep, it was a restless, broken thing. I dreamt of faceless figures and Kieran’s eyes, all shadow and sadness.

The next morning, I walked through campus with my hoodie pulled up, head low. The world looked sharper, the colors too loud, the sky too clear. I hadn’t told anyone not Zara, not even Kieran. Part of me wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. Another part whispered that if I told the wrong person, the messages wouldn’t stop. They’d get worse.

“Aria!” Zara’s voice rang out as I crossed the quad. She jogged over, her earrings catching the sunlight. “Studio today?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Just need to finish some stuff.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“Didn’t,” I muttered.

She looped her arm through mine. “Coffee. Now. You’re useless without caffeine.”

Normally, I would’ve smiled. But today, the weight of my sketch still burned behind my ribs.

Later in the studio, the familiar smell of turpentine and aged paint grounded me. It was quieter than usual only a few students scattered at easels. Kieran was already there, seated by the tall windows, sketching in a worn book. He wore a charcoal gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black jeans dusted with paint. He didn’t look up as I walked in, but I felt it—the shift, like the air turned to static.

I took the seat beside him.

“Hey,” I said, voice low.

He looked up then, and his eyes met mine like he’d been waiting. “Hey.”

I hesitated. “You said we’d talk again.”

He nodded slowly and closed his sketchbook. “Right. Do you want the truth, even if it’s not clean?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

So he told me more—about Tiffany, about the fallout, about the rumors. He didn’t defend himself. Just told it straight, voice calm, hands still. Every word felt like it cost him something. And the more he spoke, the more I hated that I believed him. Hated that a part of me wanted to reach across the table and touch his hand, just to anchor us to something real.

When he finished, he looked at me like he was bracing for impact.

But I didn’t pull away. I didn’t run.

Instead, I asked, “Can I see your notebook?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You always carry it. You sketch in it. I want to see how you see the world.”

He hesitated. Then handed it over.

I flipped through the pages slowly. They weren’t perfect drawings, most were messy, fast, raw. People. Shadows. Hands. But one sketch stopped me cold.

Me.

Hair tied up. A smudge of charcoal on my cheek. Concentrating, like I was mid-brushstroke.

“You drew me,” I whispered.

“I always draw what I can’t stop thinking about.”

But how did you know you are the one?

It looks like me, he tried talking about it, but I stopped him and told him “ story for another day”.

That night, I stayed longer in the studio after everyone left.

Kieran had offered to walk me again. He stood by the door, fingers tucked into his jacket pockets, waiting for an answer I couldn’t give. I didn’t want to be alone, not really but I needed space. I needed silence. Needed to think without him clouding it.

“I’m okay,” I said, not looking at him.

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something else. But then he nodded, gave me that quiet, almost-smile he did when hiding something, and left with a soft, “Text me when you get back.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

I didn’t move for a while. Just stood there, letting the silence settle around me like dust. The wind rattled faintly against the window panes. Somewhere above, a pipe groaned. I rubbed my arms, suddenly aware of the cold.

Eventually, I unpacked my things and sat on the wobbly wooden stool near the window. Outside, the sky was already sliding into that dusky blue that made everything look dreamlike and sad. I rested my elbows on my knees, chin in my hands, and stared at the blank page in front of me.

My mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

The sketch. The message. The photo.And then there was Kieran.

The way he had looked at me when I’d mentioned the sketch that first time. Calm, but not blank. Like he was measuring the weight of his own silence. The way he touched things gently, like he was always worried about breaking them. The way his voice slowed when he said my name.

I didn’t know what was happening between us, not exactly.

But I knew I didn’t want it to stop.

I sighed and turned my attention to my sketchbook. I opened it to a fresh page and started sketching fast—chaotic lines, dark smudges, nervous hatching. I drew the spiral in my chest. The confusion. The fear. The way I felt both exposed and invisible at the same time.

Most of the sketches ended up abstract—waves, tangled vines, strange hands reaching toward nothing. But one sketch in the middle stood out.

Kieran.

Not his whole face. Just his eyes and the slope of his cheekbone, the way his lips turned slightly down when he was lost in thought. I hadn’t meant to draw him. It had just… happened.

I stared at it for a long time.

My fingers moved over the paper, ghosting the lines I’d just made. I thought about how his hand had steadied mine that day, how warm it had felt. How steady.

And just like that, I knew.

Somewhere between the silence, the sketches, and the storm that was following us—I’d fallen for him.

Hard.

My heart thudded in my chest.

I couldn’t stop myself. I closed the book, packed my things quickly, and left the studio before I could change my mind. The halls were quiet, the lights flickering faintly above. My boots echoed down the corridor as I made my way back to the hostel.

When I finally reached my room, I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

My phone buzzed just as I kicked off my boots.

Kieran: Did you make it back okay?

I stared at the screen for a second before smiling a little, my fingers already moving to reply.

Aria: Yeah. Just got in. Locked the door and everything.

There was a pause before he typed back.

Kieran: Good. I know you said you needed to think. Hope the silence helped.

I hesitated, thumbs hovering over the screen.

Aria: It did. A little. I sketched.

Aria: You, actually.

I bit my lip the second I sent it.

Three dots appeared… then vanished.

Then came back.

Then vanished again.

My heart stuttered.

Finally:

Kieran: That’s… kind of unfair. I’ve been trying not to draw you for weeks.

I blinked. Laughed, quietly.

Aria: Why haven’t you?

Kieran: Because I didn’t want to mess it up. You’re not easy to draw.

That flutter in my chest returned, full force.

Aria: I don’t think I’m easy to be, either.

Kieran: Maybe that’s why I like watching you try.

I didn’t know what to say to that.

My fingers tightened around the phone. I sat on the bed and curled up with my knees to my chest, the glow of the screen warming my face.

Aria: But the sketch I showed you was me. I am very sure of that.

There was no response for a full minute.

Then:

Kieran: What? The sketch of a girl sitting on the edge of a building?

Aria: yes.

Kieran: I made that sketch to calm me, and you know this.

Aria: Yeah. But when exactly did you make it?

Kieran: uhmmm…. Spring break. Students were here for some exam.

Aria: I was there but I went to the rooftop to clear my head, didn’t know you would draw me.

Kieran: I just looked at the sketch again it looks like you.

I wanted to tease kieran

Aria: so… I made you calm.

Me blushing, thinking my cheeks were going to fall off.

Kieran sent me a voice note of him laughing and he told me good night.

I was so happy and forgot all my troubles.

Cliffhanger:I replayed the voice note twice, pressing the phone to my ear, grinning like an i***t in the dark. His laugh was deep, real, almost boyish. Like he wasn’t carrying shadows too.

For the first time in a while, I felt light. Like maybe I could stop running from whatever haunted me long enough to just feel this whatever *this* was becoming between us.

I set my phone on the nightstand and slid under the blanket, heart full, cheeks warm.

But just as I started to drift off, the screen lit up one last time.

**Unknown:** *He’s drawing you now, but I saw you first.*

Attached was another photo.

It wasn’t just me on the rooftop.

It was me looking over my shoulder straight at the camera.

And I had never seen anyone there.