Chapter 6
1081 Words
The next morning Luna woke to the soft clink of cutlery and the smell of butter and eggs drifting under the guest-room door. She pulled on the joggers she’d borrowed days ago—his joggers—and padded barefoot to the kitchen.
Ethan was already there, back to her, frying eggs sunny-side up, slices of avocado toast browning under the grill. The domestic scene looked so normal it hurt.
“Good morning,” she said quietly.
He turned. “Morning.”
Their eyes met for half a second—then both looked away.
They ate at the island in near silence. Only the scrape of forks on plates, the occasional sip of coffee. The air between them felt thick, bruised.
Ethan set his fork down first.
“Luna… about yesterday.” His voice was low, careful. “I’m sorry. That kiss—it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have crossed that line.”
The word *mistake* landed like a slap.
Luna’s throat tightened. She stared at her half-eaten toast, suddenly unable to swallow. She’d replayed that kiss a hundred times in her head—every slide of tongue, every press of his body against hers, every electric second—and she’d wanted it. Still wanted it. Desperately.
She managed a small nod. “Okay.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. “I just… I don’t want to make things harder for you.”
She didn’t reply.
The rest of the day was a study in avoidance. He worked in his study. She stayed in the guest room, pretending to read course material. They passed each other once in the hallway—murmured “excuse me,” stepped aside, eyes averted. The house felt too big and too small at once.
By the third morning the lockdown lifted just enough for movement. Luna packed her small bag in silence. Ethan drove her back to the hostel without a word beyond “Let me know when you get there safely.”
She nodded.
When she stepped through the door, the girls screamed.
“Luna!” Aria launched herself at her. “We thought you were dead!”
Layla hugged her from the other side. “Three days! No texts! We were ready to file a missing-person report!”
Zara just watched, eyes searching. “You okay?”
Luna forced a bright smile. “I’m fine. Just… exhausted.”
She laughed at their jokes, nodded at their stories, let them fuss over her. But inside, something was cracking.
That night, after lights out, Zara slipped onto the edge of her bed.
“Luna,” she whispered. “Talk to me. You’re not fine.”
Luna stared at the fairy lights. “I’m okay.”
Zara waited.
The silence stretched until Luna’s voice cracked. “It hurts. Thinking about him. All the time.”
Zara didn’t push for details. Just squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to be strong every second.”
But Luna felt like she had to be.
Days blurred.
She skipped his class. Then skipped again. Avoided the lecture hall entirely.
Her phone buzzed one afternoon.
**Ethan:** Luna, you haven’t been to class. Is everything alright?
She stared at the message until the screen went dark. Didn’t reply.
When she finally forced herself back to History of Ideas, the tension was unbearable.
She sat in the back row. He stood at the front. Their eyes kept finding each other—quick, burning glances that felt like touches. Every time he turned to the board, she traced the line of his shoulders, remembered how they’d flexed when he pulled her close. Every time he spoke, his voice wrapped around her like smoke, reminding her how it had dropped to a rasp against her mouth.
She imagined him stopping mid-sentence, walking straight to her, pulling her out of the chair, kissing her in front of everyone—consequences be damned.
She imagined him pressing her against the whiteboard after class, hands under her shirt, whispering apologies and promises while she begged for more.
She left the room dizzy, aching, wet between her thighs just from looking at him.
Nights were worse.
Eating alone in the hostel kitchen—his face in her mind.
Showering—imagining his hands instead of hers.
Sleeping—wet dreams that left her gasping, sheets twisted, his name on her lips when she woke.
The next week she walked into the lecture hall and froze.
A different lecturer stood at the front.
“Professor Adel will be taking this course for the remainder of the semester,” the man announced. “Professor Ethan has… other commitments.”
Luna’s heart dropped through the floor.
She sat through the lecture numb.
Afterward she stood in the corridor, phone in hand, thumb hovering over his name.
*Why?*
*How dare you leave without saying anything?*
*I miss you.*
*No—no, you don’t get to make me miss you.*
She overthought until her head hurt.
Aria found her later on her bed, staring at nothing.
“Babe, you’ve been weird since you came back from that lockdown thing. What’s going on?”
Luna forced another smile. “Just… trying to develop new habits. Everyone thinks I’m too quiet. Figured I’d change that.”
Aria pulled her into a hug. “We love you quiet. We love you loud. We love you however you are, okay?”
Luna nodded against her shoulder.
Weeks dragged.
She tried to be strong. Tried to focus on assignments, on the girls, on anything but him.
But he was everywhere—in every blues song on Layla’s playlist, in every history reference in her textbooks, in every quiet moment when her mind wandered and landed on the memory of his mouth on hers.
One night she woke from a dream so vivid she could still feel his hands on her hips, his breath on her neck, the slow grind of his body against hers until she came with a muffled cry.
She checked the time—3:07 a.m.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she opened messages.
**Luna:** Can we talk? Please.
She hit send. Fell back asleep.
Morning light woke her. Her phone glowed with a new message.
**Ethan:** Of course. Please choose whatever time is convenient for you. There’s a small coffee shop off-campus—Bean & Leaf. I’ll meet you there whenever you’re ready.
Luna stared at the words.
Heart racing.
Throat tight.
She typed back one word.
**Luna:** Tonight.
- Writer
