When We Almost Loved

Chapter 2: The Space Between What We Don't Say

2.2 Seatmates and Teasing

Jake Ramirez didn’t do small talk. He did equations, strategy, and silence. His idea of connection was three-second eye contact and a dry nod. So, naturally, he was being tortured twice a week by a girl who thought every moment was a chance to turn life into a comedy show.

“Smile more, Jake,” Mia teased, plopping into the chair across from him in the library. “You’re giving ‘I hate everyone’ energy again.”

“I do,” he muttered without looking up. “Especially loud girls who don’t bring their own highlighters.” She gasped, hand to her chest like she’d been personally attacked. “Excuse me, I am sunshine with legs. You’re lucky to sit near this level of radiance.”

Jake gave her a dry look. “You’re lucky I haven’t left.” And yet… he never did.

2.2 He Noticed…

They were working on a group project, if you could call it that. Jake did the reading, and Mia doodled in the margins. She asked ridiculous questions like “Do you think Shakespeare had commitment issues?” while sipping her iced latte with a pink straw.

At first, Jake thought she was just an airhead, until one afternoon when she read a passage from their assigned novel out loud, slowly, seriously, and with a soft tremble in her voice. Then she quickly laughed it off and called it “super emo.”

Jake didn’t miss the way her fingers shook slightly as she put down the book. There was more to Mia Santos than cute dresses and chaotic energy, but she’d rather choke than admit it. He found himself watching her when she wasn’t looking. He secretly familiarized himself with the way her lips moved when she read, the way she twirled her pen when she was nervous and the way she said “everything’s fine” a little too quickly.

2.3 Mia the Stalker

“Let me guess,” Mia said one afternoon, her legs swinging playfully under the library table like a child who had no intention of growing up just yet. “You’re one of those tortured rich boys with a penthouse and no love in your cold little heart.”

Jake didn’t even flinch. He just raised an eyebrow, unamused. “Wow. Did you stalk me?”

She grinned, completely unapologetic. “I Googled you.”

Of course she did. He should’ve seen that coming. “Youngest son of the Ramirez Group CEO,” she went on. Got kicked out of private school for punching a prefect. Rumor says you aced the entrance exam here without even trying.”

Jake didn’t answer right away. That was the thing with rumors—they always knew just enough to get close but never enough to hurt.

“Don’t believe everything you read,” he said, brushing it off with that signature detached tone.

“Oh, I don’t,” she said, tilting her head. “But I want to.”

That part made him pause. Just for a second. Not the words—but the way she said them. Like she wanted to believe something about him, he didn’t even believe himself.

He shook his head, the corner of his lips twitching. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re boring,” Mia shot back, but her voice softened near the end—so soft, it almost didn’t match her grin.

“But only when you’re scared.” Jake froze.

Scared? Him?

For a moment, he couldn’t even look at her. Because she had said it with no warning, no filter, as she saw right through him, and that terrified him more than he’d admit. He looked away, jaw tightening. What did she know about fear anyway? But Mia had already gone back to sketching something in her notebook, like she hadn’t just dismantled his armor in five seconds flat.

The thing was—Mia didn’t know where that line came from. It just slipped out, maybe because she’d been thinking about him too much lately, such as how he never really laughed. How he barely blinked when he was insulted. He always seemed like he wanted to disappear, but never did.

She liked the mystery more than she should, and she is scared. But what scared her wasn’t that she saw something in him.

It was that she wanted him to see something in her, too.

2.4 Silence on the Rooftop

“Just twenty minutes,” Mia said, holding up a peace sign as she was making a deal with fate. “You’re not even doing anything. Come on.”

Jake looked up from his book across the library table, unimpressed. “I have readings.”

“You finished them an hour ago,” she said with a grin. “I was watching. Like a weirdo.”

He scowled slightly. “You stalk people openly now?”

“I call it being observant. You were speed-reading while ignoring three chat pings, Marco’s disaster playlist, and me humming the Crash Landing on You theme.”

Jake exhaled. “Unless... you think I’m scared of heights?” That did it. Mia’s grin widened like she’d just won a game he didn’t know they were playing. “Knew it. Let’s go.”

Later that evening…

She dragged him to the campus rooftop “for stargazing and serotonin,” holding a hoodie sleeve in one hand and two juice boxes in the other. She wore a yellow hoodie—oversized, soft-looking, and way too big for her frame. The sleeves enveloped her hands, making her look like a walking sunbeam. Or a banana.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think rich kids drank pineapple juice,” she joked, handing him one.

“I don’t,” he said, taking it anyway. “But I make exceptions for annoying girls in banana sweaters.”

She laughed, light and sincere. And just for a moment, Jake forgot how to be guarded.

They sat near the ledge, side by side, not touching, not looking directly at each other. Just watching the skyline blink to life as the city lights flickered beneath them.

It was quiet. Not awkward quiet. Comfortable. Strange.

Mia broke it first, her voice softer now.

“You know… sometimes I act all happy because it’s easier than explaining why I’m not.”

Jake looked at her. She wasn’t smiling. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her sleeves tugged over her hands. She stared out into the night like she was hoping the stars might understand her better than people did. Then she laughed. Too loud. Too forced.

“Anyway! What star would you name after yourself if you could?”

Jake didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t have one. But because he was starting to realize something that felt dangerous:

She wasn’t the only coward here. She masked herself with noise. He masked himself with silence. And somehow, in this quiet space in between, he saw her more clearly than he had anyone in years.

She turned to him briefly, expecting some dry, sarcastic comeback. But Jake only blinked slowly and looked away, like he was scared of what might happen if he looked too long. Then—without meaning to—he did something she wasn’t ready for. He leaned back, letting his head rest lightly against the wall, and exhaled. Not a sigh. A release. No words. No smirk. Just that quiet surrender.

And Mia? She felt her chest flutter. Not a full heartbeat. Just the hint of one. A flicker she couldn’t sketch and couldn’t name. So she took a sip of her juice, leaned back too, and whispered, “Next time, bring chips.”

Jake didn’t answer, but he was still there and somehow, that was the loudest thing he’d done all night.

That night, Jake opened his laptop and wrote a short entry in a locked folder labeled “Useless Thoughts”:

She hides behind sparkles. I hide behind silence.

And somehow, it still feels like she sees me.

He didn’t save it.

Mia lay in bed, holding her sketchbook above her. She had drawn two people sitting side by side, their backs turned to each other. One had a crown. The other, a paper heart taped to her chest. She stared at it for a while. Then, gently closed the cover and whispered, “You’ll never know.”