When We Almost Loved

Chapter 3: Some Scars Don’t Show in Daylight

3.1: “You’re Not My Type, But You Look Like Trouble”

The first thing Mia noticed that morning wasn’t the weather, or the sleepy faces of her classmates, or even Alyanna’s usual snide remarks that often curled like cigarette smoke around the room—thin, toxic, and impossible to ignore. It was the new seat plan posted on the board—and her name beside Jake Ramirez.

Behind her, Alyanna’s voice rang out, pitched sweet but laced with vinegar.

“Well, isn’t that convenient,” she purred, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Mia gets to sit next to Jake. How lucky. Or should I say, how desperate?”

Mia felt the eyes of a few girls flick toward her, some smirking, others just entertained. Alyanna folded her arms, trying to sound amused, but her gaze kept darting to the seating plan like a thread had been pulled too tight inside her.

Everyone knew Alyanna had a soft spot for Jake—the kind of crush she dressed up as casual disinterest but couldn’t fully hide. She always volunteered to hand out papers to Jake’s row and always acted unimpressed by his intelligence while staring too long when he stretched or looked out the window. She had even tried sitting beside him during a group task once, only to be ignored the entire time. So now, seeing Mia’s name beside his—it was like a lit match near dry grass.

Mia’s lips parted slightly, not in surprise but in that subtle kind of disbelief that makes your stomach fold like paper. Of all the possibilities in that final seating chart, she never imagined she’d end up next to him. She had quietly hoped for it—maybe not seriously, but enough to feel a strange twinge of longing whenever he walked past her row. She thought it might be interesting, even thrilling, to share a desk with the school’s most enigmatic mind. But wanting something and getting it were two different stories—and now that she had it, her heart felt annoyingly unstable.

“Hey, Mia!” Marco’s voice cut through the air as he passed behind her. "Finally, sitting beside your boyfriend. I smell trouble for you.”

Alyanna laughed somewhere to the left, forced and high-pitched. “Trouble? Please. As if Jake would even look her way.”

Carla, ever the loyal sidekick, was already snapping a photo of the seating chart, probably for their group chat, captioned with something like “Your girl’s reaching again.”

Mia rolled her eyes, flicking her hair back with the calm of a girl who practiced this scene too many times in front of the mirror. She walked toward her seat like she owned the ground she stepped on—but each step toward Jake felt heavier, her pulse louder.

Inside, her chest tightened. Her breath was shallow. Her heart was beating loudly.

Jake was already there, slouched in his chair with one arm lazily thrown over the backrest, the other crossed against his chest. His expression was, as always, unreadable. There was an effortless arrogance to the way he occupied space, like he didn't need to prove anything because the room had already bowed around him. Mia’s eyes flicked at him—just briefly—but enough to catch the shape of his shoulders under the folds of his gray hoodie. Broad, tense, and undeniably solid.

Those shoulders…

The thought slipped in before she could stop it: They looked like they could hold the weight of someone falling apart. She quickly looked away, shaking off the heat rising to her cheeks. Excitement. Fear. Curiosity. Attraction. Annoyance. It was all swirling together, and she hated how visible it might be on her face. So she slipped into her seat beside him, chin up, smiling coolly like she wasn’t already breaking every rule she made for herself.

She sat beside him carefully, like someone sliding into a seat next to a stranger with a knife tucked quietly in his pocket. There was something sharp about Jake—even when he didn’t speak. Maybe, especially when he doesn’t talk. It was a silence that didn’t feel empty but edged. Like glass waiting to c***k. Like a dare.

“Hey,” she started, voice light, trying to strike the right balance between casual and charming. “Looks like we’re seatmates for the whole semester now.”

Jake didn’t look at her. His eyes blinked, slow and lazy, then drifted toward the window. “Unlucky day, huh?”

Mia blinked, a little taken aback. Not that she expected warmth, but wow. Still, she laughed, brushing it off. “For you or for me?”

He didn’t answer. The silence stretched, calm and indifferent, like fog refusing to lift.

The class dragged on. The teacher, always with his coffee-stained enthusiasm, stood at the front and announced, “We’re trying something new this quarter. Pair projects! Social issue presentations—your names are already on the board!”

Jake didn’t even look up. Mia, however, scanned the list and sighed. Of course. Jake Ramirez + Mia Santos.

As if the universe hadn’t already been playing enough tricks on her.

“Looks like we’re doing this,” she muttered, flipping through the rubric. Then, more brightly, she added, “You know what, I have a feeling we’re going to really enjoy each other’s company.”

Jake raised an eyebrow without looking at her.

“I mean,” she went on with a grin, “we’re seatmates now, project partners... fated, even. The universe clearly shipped us, Jake. And sadly for you, you don’t really have a choice.”

He finally glanced at the paper she held, eyes dragging across the page. Then, he leaned just slightly toward her—not enough to touch, but enough that she caught the faint scent of mint and something darker beneath it.

“I don’t like people who talk too much,” he said flatly.

Mia smirked, tilting her head. “Good thing I only count myself in this setup since my grade depends on your cooperation. "So, you and I—” she leaned in this time, daringly close, her nose just a breath away from his—“we simply need to get closer.”

Jake turned his face slightly, not pulling back but not leaning in either. His jaw tensed.

“This is not at all funny,” he muttered, low and firm. It wasn’t loud, but it rang clearly—a warning of what, exactly, Mia didn’t know.

But her heart leaped anyway. Her skin buzzed at the closeness. Her thoughts blurred for a second as she imagined what would’ve happened if her nose had grazed his. If he had flinched. Or worse—hadn’t. What would her body do then?

She sat back slowly, letting a smile creep onto her lips. Her pulse was out of rhythm, and her breath was coming shorter than she liked. But she masked it with her usual charm, eyes twinkling like she hadn’t just risked a moment she didn’t fully understand. For a second, she just studied him—the profile of a boy who never smiled unless provoked, his jaw tense like he clenched more than just his teeth at night. His under-eyes were shadowed, not from makeup but from life. Sleepless nights, probably. Thoughts that didn’t leave him alone. But despite all that tired weight on his face, his face card did not disappoint.

And those shoulders…

Mia’s gaze dropped, and there they were again—broad and quiet. The kind of shoulders that looked dependable, whether he meant them to or not. What would it feel like, she wondered, to lean on those after a long day? To stop pretending and fold into someone who won’t ask why you’re tired but hold it anyway? She blinked, mentally slapping herself. Get a grip, Santos.

Straightening up, she slipped back into her usual bubbly mask. Smile recharged. Voice light.

“I used to think you were just an angry nerd,” she said softly, scribbling notes into her notebook.

Jake turned his head finally, one eyebrow raised. “And now?”

She flashed a grin, her eyes meeting his without hesitation. “Now I think you’re an angry nerd with trust issues.”

A small breath escaped his nose—almost a laugh. Almost.

Later that day, as they worked in the library, Mia noticed the small things. Jake's reading was fast, but he paused on words with emotional weight. How he tapped his pen when he was thinking but always stopped when someone looked his way, how he kept his bag in his lap, not on the floor—like he didn’t trust the surrounding space.

“You always like this… closed off?” she asked suddenly, not looking up from her notes.

“You always like this…nosy?” he shot back.

“Like I told you, I’m just too observant,” she replied. “It’s a skill.”

Jake scribbled something on his pad, then he looked up at her. His eyes—dark, steady, sharp. “It's not safe to be too observant.”

The moment froze. The air between them changed—thicker, slower. She wanted to ask what he meant. But she didn’t. Not yet.

After school, as they packed up their things, Jake stood, ready to start their “cooperation” intended for that social issue presentation, and finally spoke without sarcasm.

“I’ll do the slides. You write the script.”

Mia raised a brow. “You trust me to write?”

“No,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder and already half-turned away. But I know you’ll care more about it than I will. "You want good grades, right?”

He walked off, just like that. No goodbye. Mia stared at his back as he disappeared around the hallway. She didn’t know what annoyed her more—that he was always like this, or that he was slowly getting under her skin. Maybe Marco was right. Maybe I am in trouble, she thought. But the kind of trouble she couldn’t quite walk away from.