Page 139 of Ashen Souls

We reached the next building, and the bell signaling the upcoming hour echoed across the courtyard.

Harper glanced at me again. “Also, if he looks at you like that again in public, I am charging admission.”

I shoved her shoulder, but I couldn't stop smiling.

The rest of the day unfolded in fragments.

I attended my next lecture, sat in my assigned seat, opened my notebook, and wrote down exactly three words in forty-five minutes. The professor droned on about postmodern theory, but the sentences disintegrated before they reached me.

My focus kept snapping back to the friction of Ethan’s shirt under my palms. To his chest against mine.

Every time I replayed the moment he said, I’m not letting you walk away from me, I caught myself staring blankly at the wood grain of my desk. The memory of his mouth, his tongue parting my lips, made it impossible to sit still.

During lunch, I just pushed my food around my plate. Harper carried most of the conversation, filling the silence with commentary about classmates and critiques of cafeteria food, occasionally pausing to study my face with open amusement.

“You’re spiraling,” she observed at one point.

“I’m not spiraling.”

“You’re replaying.”

I did not deny it.

Harper leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Does he kiss as well as he looks?”

I dropped my fork. “Harper.”

“What? It’s a scientifically relevant question.” She watched my inability to form a sentence, then sat back with a satisfied smirk. “Never mind. Judging by the fact that your brain has clearly left the building, I’m going to assume the answer is a resounding yes.”

“You are the worst,” I muttered, staring at my salad.

Between classes, my gaze flickered toward my phone more often than I would have liked to admit. It remained silent in my hand, screen dark, no new messages waiting.

What if he texted? What would he say? Something careful and measured? Something reckless? Or would he decide that the kiss had been a lapse in judgment and that professionalism demanded retreat?

By late afternoon, the adrenaline had burned off, leaving behind a creeping paranoia. With every hour that passed, I found a new reason to second-guess everything he had said.

I had not realized how starved I was for something this real until I finally felt it.

As I left the final class of the day, the sun already slanting toward evening, my phone was still silent.

The absence of a message started feeling like an answer.

Was he giving me space? Was he regretting it? Or was he, like me, caught between caution and want, deciding which version of himself would step forward next?

By the time I reached my building, the sky had deepened into the muted blue of early evening. For a moment, I stood on the sidewalk outside my door, staring at the blank screen as if sheer willpower could force it to light up.

Harper had texted twenty minutes earlier.

Harper: Emergency shift at the bistro. Lila called in sick and apparently capitalism waits for no one. Are you okay being alone tonight?

I had hesitated before answering, aware of how different that question would have sounded a month ago.

Me: I’ll survive.

Harper: Has he texted?

Me: Not yet.