Chapter Fourteen

SOLANA

Campus is buzzing with the usual Monday energy—half-awake students rushing to class, others standing in groups catching up on whatever drama happened over the weekend.

I weave through the crowd, my bag slung over my shoulder, my thoughts still a mess from everything that happened with Tyler.

I barely slept the past two days.

I push open the door to my literature class.

My eyes scan the room for an empty seat, but then I spot him.

Aiden.

Sitting near the middle, his head bent over his notebook, tapping his pen against the desk.

I hesitate for half a second before walking over and sliding into the seat next to him.

His reaction is instant.

He stiffens, his head snapping up like he wasn’t expecting anyone to sit beside him, let alone me. His brown eyes widen, flicking between my face and the empty seats around us, like he’s trying to figure out if I meant to sit here or if I got lost.

“Uh… hey,” he says, voice uncertain.

I suppress a small smile. “Hey.”

He blinks. Still stunned.

Like he can’t believe this is happening.

I pull out my notebook and pen, acting like this is totally normal, like I didn’t just completely throw him off. A moment passes, and when I glance at him from the corner of my eye, he’s still staring at me, as if waiting for me to say something.

“Are you gonna keep looking at me like that, or…?” I tease, arching an eyebrow.

His cheeks flush instantly, and he looks away, clearing his throat. “Sorry. Just… wasn’t expecting this.”

I smirk. “Expecting what?”

He hesitates, gripping his pen a little too tightly. “You sitting here.”

I shrug. “Why not?”

Aiden lets out a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. We’ve only talked once.”

“Exactly. Which means we’re not strangers anymore.”

He looks at me again, this time like he’s trying to figure me out.

And maybe he should be.

Because I also don’t even know why I’m here.

AIDEN

She’s sitting next to me.

Solana Martinez is sitting next to me.

I try not to make it obvious that I’m completely thrown off, but I know I’m failing miserably. My brain short-circuited the second she slid into the seat beside me, acting like this is totally normal. Like we do this every day.

We don’t.

We’ve never done this.

And yet, here she is, flipping open her notebook, tapping her pen against the desk like this is just another Monday.

I must be staring because she turns her head slightly, arching a brow. “Are you gonna keep looking at me like that, or…?”

Shit.

Heat creeps up my neck as I snap my gaze forward, clearing my throat.

“Sorry. Just… wasn’t expecting this.”

“Expecting what?” she asks, tilting her head.

I grip my pen, suddenly feeling like I have no idea what to do with my hands. “You sitting here.”

She shrugs. “Why not?”

Why not?

Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because she’s her—drop-dead gorgeous, confident, completely out of my league—and I’m me.

I let out a small, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t know. We’ve only talked once.”

“Exactly,” she says, smirking. “Which means we’re not strangers anymore.”

I stare at her, trying to wrap my head around what’s happening.

Because this—her choosing to sit with me, talking to me like we’ve been friends forever—wasn’t supposed to happen.

I spent so much time convincing myself she was untouchable. That she existed in a different world than mine, one I had no business stepping into.

And yet…

She’s here.

Next to me.

The professor walks in, and I force myself to focus, but it’s impossible.

Solana is right next to me, close enough that I can smell the faint scent of her perfume—something soft and warm, completely her. Every time she shifts in her seat, my brain stutters, hyper-aware of every tiny movement.

I tell myself to get a grip.

She’s just a girl.

Except she’s not just anything.

I sneak a glance at her. She’s taking notes, her long black hair cascading over one shoulder, her blue eyes locked on the professor like she actually cares about what he’s saying.

I should do the same.

I try to do the same.

Halfway through the lecture, she nudges me with her pen. “Hey.”

I turn to her, trying not to seem too eager. “Yeah?”

She gestures to my notebook. “You’re not writing anything.”

I glance down.

She’s right. My page is practically blank.

“I'm—” I clear my throat, flipping my pen between my fingers. “just distracted.”

Her lips twitch, amusement flickering in her eyes. “By what?”

You.

The word almost slips out, but I catch it just in time. Instead, I shake my head. “Nothing.”

She hums like she doesn’t believe me but doesn’t push. Instead, she slides her notebook slightly toward me. “You can copy mine.”

I stare at her, surprised. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” she says simply. “But I am.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

So I just nod, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat as I shift slightly toward her, our shoulders brushing. She doesn’t pull away.

Neither do I.

And for the rest of the class, I pretend my heart isn’t racing.

The lecture drags on, but for the first time, I don’t mind.

Every few minutes, Solana leans in, pointing out something in her notes or whispering a comment about the professor’s monotone voice. She’s effortless—like she doesn’t even realize the effect she has on me.

When class finally ends, she stretches her arms, then turns to me. “So… when's your next class?”

I blink. “Uh.. in two hours.”

She hums, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I also have an hour free.”

I nod slowly, unsure why she’s telling me this.

Then she raises an eyebrow. “Wanna grab a coffee?”

I stare at her, not sure I heard right.

“Like… with you?”

She laughs. “No, with the guy sitting behind you.”

I glance over my shoulder instinctively, but the seat is empty. When I turn back, she’s smirking.

I flush. “Right. That was dumb.”

She grins. “A little.”

I hesitate. My brain is screaming at me to say yes, to take whatever this is and run with it. But my instinct—the one that’s spent the last year telling me not to get my hopes up—makes me second-guess.

“Are you… sure?” I ask carefully.

She frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”

I clear my throat. “I mean, you don’t have to—”

“Aiden.”

My name on her lips makes my stomach tighten.

She tilts her head, her blue eyes searching mine. “It’s just coffee.”

It is.

And yet, to me, it feels like so much more.

I nod, gripping the strap of my bag. “Okay.”

Her face brightens. “Cool. There’s a café outside campus. I’ll show you.”

She starts walking, and for a second, I just stand there, staring after her like a complete idiot.

Then I snap out of it and follow.

Then I remember....

The painting.

Shit.

I was supposed to finish it today.

I stop walking, rubbing the back of my neck. “Actually… I was gonna work on something for my art class.”

Solana pauses mid-step and turns to me, brows raised. “Art class?”

I nod, feeling a little self-conscious. “Yeah. I, uh… paint.”

Her expression shifts, something like surprise flashing across her face. “You paint?”

I give her a half-smile. “That shocking?”

She shrugs, studying me with newfound curiosity. “A little. You just don’t seem like the artsy type.”

I let out a quiet laugh. “What type do I seem like?”

She pretends to think, tapping her finger against her chin. “Hmm… bookworm, maybe. Definitely a little awkward.”

I roll my eyes, but my smile widens. “Wow. Thanks.”

She grins. “I mean it in a good way.” Then, after a beat, “Can I see it?”

I blink. “See what?”

“Your painting.”

I freeze.

No one ever asks to see my work. Most people don’t even know I paint. It’s always been my thing—something I do alone, away from everyone else.

I should say no.

I should make up some excuse.

But Solana is looking at me with genuine interest, her blue eyes bright, and before I can stop myself, I nod.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Her lips curve into a small smile. “Cool. We can check that out first. Then coffee.”

I swallow, my heart doing something weird in my chest.

Because I was already freaking out about her wanting to grab coffee—

But now she’s coming to see my art.

And somehow, that feels even more personal.

We walk across campus toward the art building, and I can feel the weight of Solana’s presence beside me the entire time.

She’s actually interested. In my painting.

I don’t know why that messes with my head so much, but it does.

Most people who know me only see the surface—the quiet guy, the bookworm, the one who keeps to himself. They don’t ask about the things I create.

But here Solana is, wanting to see something I’ve poured my time into.

The thought makes my palms a little sweaty.

When we reach the studio, I swipe my student ID, pushing the door open. The room smells like paint and turpentine, canvases leaning against walls, easels scattered across the space.

I lead her toward my station, where my painting sits propped up on the easel. It’s not finished yet, but the image is there—stormy clouds rolling over a dark ocean, the kind of scene that makes you feel something. At least, that’s what I was aiming for.

I hesitate before stepping aside, letting her get a full look.

Her eyes widen slightly. “Whoa.”

I tense. “Whoa, good or…?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, stepping closer. “This is amazing.”

I blink, caught off guard.

She glances at me. “You did this?”

I nod, shifting on my feet. “Yeah.”

She looks back at the painting, her gaze tracing over every brushstroke.

“This is seriously good, Aiden. Like… I don’t know what I was expecting, but damn.”

I let out a small, breathy laugh, feeling heat rise to my ears. “Thanks.”

She studies it for another moment before tilting her head. “What’s the story behind it?”

That question almost makes me laugh.

“Would it be weird if I said I don’t know?” I admit. “I just… painted.”

She hums, tapping her chin. “It kinda looks like… I don’t know, a storm brewing. Like something’s about to happen.”

I swallow hard, looking at the painting again.

Funny. I hadn’t thought about it that way before, but now that she says it…

It does feel like that.

I clear my throat. “Yeah. Maybe.”

She smiles, then gestures toward the easel. “Are you gonna keep working on it?”

I hesitate. “You mean… now?”

She shrugs. “Yeah. I kinda wanna watch.”

I freeze. “Watch me?”

She smirks. “Is that a problem?”

Yes.

Because how the hell am I supposed to focus on painting when she's literally watching my every move?

But I don’t say that.

Instead, I swallow my nerves and nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

I grab my brush, dip it in paint, and force myself to start.

And as I add strokes to the canvas, I feel her eyes on me.

Watching.

Studying.

And that's really messing with my brain.

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