Campus Walls
1820 Words
The morning after 4am tasted like rain and house rules.
Aria stood in Damian’s guest room holding his gray hoodie. It was folded neatly on the chair from last night. She told herself she’d leave it there. She told herself that twice already.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Maya: You alive? 8am lecture in 20. Don’t tell me you skipped again after the airport drama.
Aria smiled. First real smile since landing. She typed back: Alive. Barely. Damian’s driving me to campus. Save me a seat.
Downstairs, Damian was at the kitchen counter. Coffee in one hand. Phone in the other. Still in gray t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked up when she came in.
“You’re wearing that,” he said. Not a question. His hoodie was on her. Sleeves rolled up three times.
“Borrowing it,” Aria said. She grabbed her bag. “Until I get back. I’ll wash it.”
Damian didn’t answer. Just grabbed his keys and jacket. “Let’s go. Traffic’s bad.”
The drive to University of Manchester was quiet. Rain hit the windshield. Damian drove with one hand, jaw tight. Didn’t play music. Didn’t talk. But he glanced at her twice at red lights. Like he was checking she was still there.
He pulled up to the Arts Building at 8:14am. Didn’t get out. Just said: “Text me when lectures end. I’ll pick you up.”
“House rule?” Aria asked, reaching for the door.
“Rule #10,” he said. Voice flat. “Don’t go anywhere without me knowing.”
Aria nodded. Got out. Rain misted her hair immediately. She didn’t look back.
Campus was alive by 8:15am. Students with coffee, bikes flying past, someone arguing about essays on the steps. The air was cold but the sun tried. Manchester weather, always dramatic.
Aria walked fast, head down. Three years away didn’t make the stares disappear. People still whispered. "That’s her." "Damian Black’s girl." "She ran away." She kept her eyes on the path.
"Maya!" someone shouted from the steps of the Arts Building.
Maya Thompson. 5’6, bright red hair, laugh that carried across campus. Aria’s best friend since high school. The only person who never asked why Aria left Manchester at 16. She just showed up at Aria’s flat in London with noodles every time Aria didn’t answer her texts.
Maya waved both arms like she was landing a plane. "There she is! The prodigal queen!"
Aria jogged up the steps. Maya pulled her into a hug that smelled like vanilla and lecture notes.
"You look tired," Maya said, pulling back and scanning Aria’s face. "And you’re wearing his hoodie. Don’t lie, I can smell the cedar."
"I didn’t plan to," Aria said. "It was cold in the car."
"Mmhmm." Maya linked their arms and steered her toward the lecture hall. "We’ll talk later. Professor Harry waits for no one. Even not for Damian Black’s… whatever you are now."
The lecture was two hours of sociology and statistics. Aria tried to focus. Tried to take notes. But every five minutes her mind drifted back to 4am. To Damian at the counter. To "you’re not 16 anymore." To the hoodie that still smelled like him.
Maya noticed. She always noticed. She kicked Aria’s ankle under the desk.
"Earth to Aria. You’re writing ‘Damian’ instead of ‘Durkheim.’"
Aria looked down. She was. She crossed it out hard.
"Shut up."
"Make me." Maya grinned. "After class. Coffee. You owe me the whole story. Airport to his house to… this. No skipping parts."
After lectures, the campus coffee shop was packed. Rain started again, light against the windows. Maya ordered two flat whites and dragged Aria to the corner table. The one with chipped paint and the best view of the courtyard.
"Talk," Maya said, sliding a coffee across. "Where were you last night? You missed our movie night. Again."
Aria wrapped her hands around the cup. Let the warmth sink in. "Airport. Damian’s house. We talked. About rules. About the past. About stuff."
"And?" Maya leaned forward. "Did he look at you like you’re the only thing in the room? Because he does. I’ve seen it."
Aria’s face went hot. "He gave me his hoodie. Because I was cold."
"Because you were cold," Maya repeated, deadpan. "Sure. And I’m the Queen of England. Aria, you can’t run from this forever. Three years hiding. He’s been waiting."
"I’m not hiding," Aria said, quieter. "I’m figuring things out."
"By figuring out his hoodie?" Maya snorted. "Fair. He has good taste."
They laughed. Real laughter. The kind that made the stress in Aria’s chest loosen for five minutes. They talked about classes, about Maya’s terrible flatmate, about the new café that opened on Oxford Road. For a while, it felt normal. Like she was just a student. Not Damian Black’s problem. Not the girl who ran.
At 3pm, Aria’s phone buzzed. Unknown number.
Library. 4pm. We need to talk. -J
Aria stared at it. Her thumb hovered over delete.
Maya saw her face change. "Who is it?"
"Jack," Aria said. The name felt heavy. "My brother."
Maya’s smile dropped. "I thought… I thought he wasn’t back in Manchester yet."
"He wasn’t." Aria stood up, bag on her shoulder. "I have to go."
"Wait." Maya grabbed her wrist. "Do you want me to come?"
Aria shook her head. "No. This is between me and him. But… save me a seat tomorrow?"
"Always," Maya said. "And Aria? You’re allowed to have people. Even if he’s family. Even if it’s messy."
Aria nodded. Walked out into the rain. Texted Damian: Meeting my brother. Library. I’ll text after.
His reply came in 3 seconds: I’m outside. Don’t go alone.
She didn’t answer. Just walked faster.
The University Library was old stone and quiet rules. Fourth floor, back corner, table by the window. Jack was already there. 24. Taller than Aria by a head. Same dark hair, same eyes. But his were harder. Years of working, of covering for her, of being the "responsible one" had carved lines into his face.
He stood when she approached. Didn’t hug her. Didn’t smile.
"You came," he said.
"You texted," Aria said. Sat across from him. "Three years, Jack. You couldn’t call?"
"I couldn’t risk it," he said. His voice was low. Tired. "Dad’s people track everything. Phone calls. Messages. I had to wait until it was safe."
"Safe for who?" Aria asked. "You? Or me?"
Jack flinched. He ran a hand through his hair. "For both of us. You think I wanted you to disappear at 16? You think I liked getting calls from Damian saying you were gone?"
"Then why didn’t you come for me?" Aria’s voice cracked. "Why did I have to run to London alone?"
"Because I was cleaning up Dad’s mess!" Jack slammed his palm on the table. Students looked up. He lowered his voice. "Because if I left, they’d kill you. Because Damian was the only one Dad feared enough to not chase you to London."
The word "Dad" hung between them like glass. Their father. The man who built half of Manchester’s construction and all of its fear. The man who decided Aria’s life at 12. The man who didn’t care she wanted art school, not board meetings.
"I don’t want his money," Aria said. "I don’t want his name. I just want to be normal."
"Normal left when you were born into that family," Jack said, not unkind. "But you can choose what comes next. Stay at school. Finish your degree. Let me and Damian handle the rest."
"Damian," Aria said the name like a question.
Jack nodded. "He’s been watching out for you since you were 12. Don’t pretend you didn’t know. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it too."
Aria looked out the window. Rain on stone. Students with umbrellas. Normal life happening without her permission.
"I don’t know what I feel," she admitted. "I’m angry. I’m scared. I’m… tired of being protected."
"I know," Jack said. He pushed a folder across the table. "Legal papers. Emancipation. Access to your trust fund. It’s all there. No more asking permission. No more running. You decide."
Aria opened the folder. Pages and pages. Her name. Her signature line. Freedom in black and white.
"You did this?" she asked.
"I started it three years ago," Jack said. "When you left. I told Dad I’d burn everything down if he touched you again. Took time. But it’s done."
Aria closed the folder. Held it to her chest. For the first time in years, something in her chest unclenched.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Jack finally smiled. Small. Real. "Don’t thank me. Just live. Actually live. Go to class. Drink bad coffee. Fight with your best friend. Be 19."
"I fight with Maya every day," Aria said, and they both laughed.
They talked for another hour. About Mum, who died when Aria was 10. About the house in Didsbury that felt more like a prison. About the future. About how Aria didn’t have to choose between safety and herself anymore.
At 5:30pm, Jack stood up. "I have to go. Meeting across town. But I’m not disappearing again. You have my number. Real number. Call me. Anytime."
Aria stood too. This time, she hugged him. Tight. Three years of anger and fear in one hug.
"I will," she said into his shoulder. "And Jack? Thanks for choosing me."
"Always," he said. "You’re my sister. That doesn’t change."
He left. Quick, efficient steps. The same way he handled everything.
Aria sat back down. Opened her bag. Pulled out Damian’s hoodie. Held it in her lap. She thought about 4am. About "you’re not 16 anymore." About the way he looked at her like she was something worth protecting and something worth being afraid of.
Her phone buzzed.
Damian: Outside. Now.
Maya: Did you survive your brother?
Aria: I think so. Same time tomorrow?
Maya: Obviously. And bring the hoodie. I want to smell the cedar again.
Aria smiled. Folded the hoodie carefully. Put it back in her bag.
She walked out of the library into the rain. Damian’s black SUV was idling at the curb. He didn’t get out. Just unlocked the door.
Aria slid in. Warmth hit her immediately. He turned the heat up one notch without her asking.
"You okay?" he asked. Eyes on the road.
"Yeah," Aria said. "My brother… he gave me papers. Emancipation. I can choose now."
Damian nodded once. Didn’t look at her. "Good. That’s what you deserve."
Silence. But not heavy like last night. Lighter. Like something shifted.
Campus was getting dark. Lights flickered on across the quad. Somewhere, someone was still playing guitar. Life was happening. And for the first time, Aria felt like she was allowed to be part of it.
She wasn’t 16 anymore. She wasn’t running. She wasn’t in a dorm. She was choosing.
And choice felt like freedom.
- Writer
