(The Distance Between Us)
After the Victor Haleen incident, the atmosphere at school shifted. Not loudly, and certainly not with any grand announcement—it was just a quiet, pervasive chill. It was the specific kind of silence that fell when people suddenly remembered Rowan Hale existed, but collectively decided it was far safer to pretend he didn't.
No one blocked his path anymore. The whispers died down the moment he entered a room. Fear, it turned out, was a much more effective deterrent than school rules.
Rowan leaned back in his chair, his textbook open, his eyes scanning physics formulas he had already committed to memory weeks ago. It was simple, predictable, and logical.
Unlike people.
His pen paused mid-equation. Without warning, his thoughts drifted. Again.
*Aria Larkspur.*
That day in the principal's office replayed in his mind with irritating clarity. The way she had stood there—calm, dangerous, utterly untouchable. The way she hadn't needed to raise her voice to make grown men shrink into their chairs. The way she'd looked at Victor and said, *"Touch him again, and you won't like what happens next."*
Rowan exhaled slowly, a faint, involuntary smile tugging at his lips before he could catch it.
"…You're smiling like an idiot."
His deskmate, Kabir, leaned over with a dramatic grin. "Confess. Who is she? School belle? Secret girlfriend? A mysterious admirer with great taste?"
Rowan blinked, snapping back to reality. "What?"
Kabir gasped like he'd just uncovered a national scandal. "Don't play coy! Our school queen, Anaya Kapoor? She's been looking at you lately like you're her final exam."
Rowan looked at him, completely unimpressed. "That's a terrible comparison."
Kabir ignored the dig and shoved his phone into Rowan's face. "Forget Anaya. Look at this. The school forum. Top post."
Rowan didn't care. He really didn't. Until he saw the image.
His fingers froze. It was a photo of him and Aria, taken that day. The angle was too perfect to be accidental—the light cutting across them like a cinematic shot. Aria was turned toward him, her expression sharp and almost annoyed, while he was looking at her like she was the only thing that existed.
Rowan locked the screen. Too fast. Too sudden.
Kabir blinked. "Whoa. Defensive. Suspicious."
"Who posted it?" Rowan's voice was suddenly colder than the winter air.
"Anonymous. But the comments are insane. Half the school wants to know who she is, and the other half thinks she's your—"
"Enough."
The word landed like a gavel. Kabir held up both hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Relax. I didn't know you were gatekeeping your very attractive mystery woman."
Rowan didn't respond, but something twisted in his chest. He didn't like it. He didn't like strangers talking about her, didn't like them looking at her, and he certainly didn't like that the photo existed at all.
That night, the house felt off.
Aria stood outside Rowan's door, balancing a plate of sliced fruit. She knocked once. Then twice. When no answer came, she frowned and reached for the handle.
Locked.
*Since when?* Aria leaned against the wood, crossing her arms.
"System," she muttered, "is he hiding something, or am I accidentally raising a secret criminal?"
*"Teenagers value privacy,"* the System buzzed lazily.
"Teenagers also make terrible life decisions," Aria countered. "I'd like an early warning system."
Before the System could retort, the door clicked open. Rowan stood there, slightly breathless, his hair damp, wearing only a sleeveless jersey. Aria's eyes flicked over him once—a quick, clinical assessment—before she looked away.
"Take it," she said, thrusting the plate toward him.
Their fingers brushed—brief, accidental, electric. Rowan stiffened. Aria noticed, of course. She noticed everything. Her gaze narrowed. "Why do you look like you just ran a marathon?"
"…Exercise."
"At night?"
"…Yes."
Aria raised an eyebrow. "Suspicious. Very suspicious."
Rowan almost smiled. Almost. Aria sighed and stepped past him into the room. "Sit."
He obeyed without thinking. She grabbed a hairdryer from the side table. Rowan froze. "Aria—"
"Don't argue," she cut him off. "You'll get sick, and I refuse to deal with another hospital situation because you lack basic survival instincts."
"That happened once."
"And once was enough," she snapped.
The dryer hummed to life, filling the room with warm air. Her fingers moved through his hair—careful, controlled, and far too close.
Rowan stared straight ahead, his jaw locked tight. His mind was a complete disaster, a riot of thoughts he couldn't afford to have. *This is wrong. Why does this feel—? Stop.* His pulse refused to cooperate. Aria didn't seem to notice—or maybe she did, and she was just playing her own game.
"Honestly," she muttered, "for someone as smart as you, your self-care skills are embarrassing."
Rowan let out a quiet, shaky breath. "Noted."
"Good. Improve."
Suddenly, he stood up. Too fast. Too abrupt. The dryer nearly slipped from her hand. "I'll do it myself," he said, his voice uneven. "You should rest."
Aria stared at him. Suspicion: activated. "Rowan."
"Yes?"
"You're acting weird."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm really not."
She crossed her arms. "You're sweating, you're avoiding eye contact, and you just kicked me out of your own room. Should I be concerned or offended?"
Rowan blinked. "…Neither."
"Wow," Aria said dryly. "Very reassuring."
He opened the door for her. She walked out slowly, her eyes lingering on his face. When the door clicked shut, she stood in the hallway for a long moment.
"Yeah," she muttered to the empty air. "Something is definitely wrong."
Inside, Rowan leaned against the wall, eyes shut, his breathing ragged. *What is wrong with me?* His chest felt tight, and his thoughts were far louder than they had any right to be. Aria's voice, the phantom sensation of her hands, the scent of her perfume—everything lingered, uninvited and unavoidable. He dragged a hand through his damp hair.
*This is bad. Very bad.*
Downstairs, Aria sat alone at the long dining table. There was too much food, too much space, and way too much silence.
"Rowan's not coming down?" she asked casually.
The servant nodded. "He mentioned he had assignments. Asked for his food in his room."
Aria stared at the array of dishes, her appetite vanishing. She poked at a piece of chicken.
"Of course he did." After a moment, she pointed lazily at one dish. "He likes that. Send up more."
She stood up and left the table, leaving the meal untouched.
Later, the garden was bathed in moonlight. Aria walked aimlessly until she saw him—Rowan, sitting near the water, sketching. She didn't call out. There was something about his expression that stopped her—he wasn't calm, and he certainly wasn't focused. He looked conflicted. Almost guilty.
Before she could take another step, he noticed her. He stood up with the sharp, jerky precision of a startled animal.
"Aria."
He closed his sketchbook and moved toward the house. "Going inside," he said, not breaking stride.
"Rowan."
He didn't stop. He didn't even look back.
Aria stood there, watching him disappear into the shadows. She looked around the empty garden.
"…Did he just run away from me?"
She let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Unbelievable."
Back at school, Rowan wasn't paying attention. Again.
Kabir nudged him. "You've been gone for days. Mentally checked out, emotionally unavailable, yet academically still perfect. It's annoying, you know."
Rowan didn't react. Then, Kabir pointed toward the door. "Hey. She's here."
Anaya Kapoor stood outside. Rowan frowned. "I'll be back," he told Kabir.
"Good luck, lover boy."
"Shut up."
They met in a quiet corner, shielded from the cameras. Anaya held out a box of chocolates, her hands trembling slightly. "Thank you," she said softly. "For… everything."
Rowan kept his expression neutral. "I didn't do it for you."
She flinched, but held her ground. "I know. Still… I wanted to say it properly." She took a breath, gathering her courage. "I like you. Will you… be my boyfriend?"
Rowan looked at her. He really looked at her, and in that moment, he realized he couldn't even pretend.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I can't."
Her smile faltered, but she nodded. "I figured. You're kind of impossible to read."
"Not really."
"Oh, you are," she said with a bittersweet smile. "But it's fine. I hope whoever you like… likes you back."
She walked away, leaving him in the silence.
Rowan stood still. Kabir's words echoed in his head: *You definitely have someone.*
He exhaled slowly. *Do I?*
The answer came instantly. Annoyingly clear. Unavoidable.
*Aria Larkspur.*
He clenched his jaw. *That's not possible. Not allowed. Not right.* It wasn't something he could ever act on. And yet, the realization didn't change a thing.
On the school rooftop, the wind rushed past him. Rowan stood near the edge, thinking too much, too deeply, and far too dangerously.
Seven thousand meters. That was the distance between school and home. Between him and her.
So close, and yet, completely untouchable.
"Rowan!"
The panicked voice of the principal broke the silence. Rowan turned to see the man sprinting toward him, breathless and terrified. "Don't do anything stupid! Get away from there!"
Rowan blinked, looking down at the ground. He was a full meter away from the edge. He frowned. "Sir?"
"Yes?!"
"I'm not jumping."
The principal froze, then let out a shuddering, awkward sigh. "Oh. Good. Excellent decision."
Rowan turned away, his expression unreadable. Jump? No. He wasn't that dramatic. He just didn't know what to do with feelings that shouldn't exist.
And that, he realized, was far worse than falling.