The next morning, I stood at my locker, doing what I always did—admiring Jack Carter from a safe, invisible distance. Which officially made me that girl. You know, the hopeless one. The one who watches, never acts, and definitely never gets noticed.

Same routine, different day.

Jack was at his locker, deep in conversation with Brent. Just the two of them. No sign of the girl he'd been all over yesterday. I frowned. Wait... don't tell me—

"I told you he'd dropped her," a voice nearby said, laced with smug satisfaction. "He totally freaked when she said she liked him forever."

Of course. A girl confessing—Jack Carter's ultimate deal-breaker.

Another voice chimed in, amused. "Not surprising. He's never serious about anyone. I feel like he just wants to have his fun, play with their feelings. And oh, look—Brooke and her little clique are smirking while she cries her eyes out. Classic."

I followed their gaze. Sure enough, there was Brooke—the reigning queen of drama—leaning against her locker, watching the aftermath like it was premium entertainment. Across from her, Jack's latest ex stood with hunched shoulders, her friends murmuring weak reassurances as she wiped at her eyes.

And they weren't wrong about Jack. He never took girls' feelings seriously. That's why he detached so easily the second they wanted something more.

I don't know what happened last year—when I was a freshman, observing from the sidelines—when he ended his three-month relationship. But something changed. Either something shifted, or maybe he was always like this.

I scoffed. And here I am, doing this to myself?

A fresh wave of irritation tightened my chest. Not at the girl—I felt bad for her. But at the cycle. The predictability of it. Jack never promised anything, never offered more. He always backed out. And yet, every single time, people acted surprised when he walked away.

I knew better.

I wasn't at my locker for my books. Not really. I was here for the gossip—Oceanview Academy's social soap opera playing out in real-time. I kept my head down, blending into the background, but I still saw everything. People-watching is just research, I told myself.

It's not like I actually cared what Jack did.

Liar, my conscience whispered. You're in denial.

Stupid mind. It knows. I hate it here.

But then, my gaze flicked back to him.

The way he stood there—shoulders relaxed, completely unaffected—unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

A girl behind me giggled. "So, Jack's single again. But really? Was it even a relationship? They were just flirting in class yesterday and during lunch. I highly doubt it was serious. You know it's just talking stages these days. Now, who's next in line?"

I bit my tongue to keep from rolling my eyes. Not you, girl, that's for sure.

The first-period bell rang, and the usual rush of students filled the halls. As I turned to leave, heading to my next class, one thought stuck with me—

Jack Carter was always unattached. Always detached.

And maybe that was exactly why I needed to stay far, far away.

AP World History wasn't hard, but it was the perfect storm of information overload and mind-numbing monotone lectures. Mr. Abernathy had a special talent—he could make the fall of empires sound like a bedtime story. The kind that made your eyelids heavy no matter how hard you fought it.

I tapped my pen against my notebook, trying to ground myself, but my thoughts kept slipping through my grasp—drifting back to this morning.

It didn't make sense. Jack flirted like breathing, made people feel special—even if only for a moment—but the second things got real? He bailed.

I should've been disgusted. Should've rolled my eyes and shoved him into the "walking red flag" category like every other heartbroken girl at Oceanview Academy.

And yet, here I was, analyzing his relationship patterns like I was some kind of scientist.

He is a walking red flag, so why am I this obsessed with this?

Ugh. Stop thinking about him.

I scrawled some nonsense notes across the page, hoping the motion would trick my brain into focusing. Spoiler: it didn't.

Somewhere in the distance, Mr. Abernathy's voice droned on.

"The Treaty of Versailles created lasting tensions that ultimately contributed to—"

A sharp thunk snapped me back to reality.

I blinked and glanced to my left, where a kid two seats over had just dropped his textbook onto the floor. A few people turned, but the moment passed quickly.

My heart, on the other hand, was still playing catch-up, hammering way too hard for something so minor.

Deep breath. Reset. Focus.

The last thing I needed was to zone out so hard that Mr. Abernathy decided to call on me. I did not want a repeat of yesterday. One wrong move and I'd have half the class staring at me, waiting for an answer I didn't have.

I forced my attention back to the lecture, willing myself to absorb something—anything—useful.

If I could just make it through this class without another Jack-related spiral, I'd count it as a win.

The moment the bell rang, I bolted out of my seat, stuffing my notebook into my backpack with a little too much force. The last thing I needed was another downward spiral into Jack-related territory, and yet, my brain had spent the entire class doing just that.

I wove through the crowded hallway, dodging groups of students who had somehow mastered the art of moving painfully slow. My goal was simple: get to my next class without any more distractions.

Unfortunately, I wasn't paying enough attention to my surroundings.

One second, I was speed-walking toward my locker. The next, I slammed into something solid.

Hard.

The impact sent me stumbling backward, my breath catching as strong hands gripped my arms, steadying me before I could crash to the floor.

I looked up—straight into familiar grayish-blue eyes.

Oh, shit.

Jack.

His hands were still on me, firm but not rough, his expression unreadable yet sharply focused. A flicker of concern passed through his gaze.

And then I glanced to the right.

Brent.

His expression was unreadable too—except his unreadable was different. Sharper. He looked like he was observing me. Waiting for something. Judging.

He looked intimidating.

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering against my ribs as I flicked my gaze back to Jack, still holding me, still staring at me like he was trying to figure something out.

The rest of the hallway faded into white noise.

His touch was warm—too warm—and suddenly, my brain short-circuited.

Oh, this is bad.

Jack's brows furrowed slightly. "You okay?"

Words. Words were a thing. A thing I needed to use.

I opened my mouth, but my vocal cords refused to cooperate. For a second, I just stood there, absolutely mortified, waiting for my brain to reboot.

And then I did the worst possible thing—I panicked.

I jerked out of his grip like I'd just touched a live wire and muttered, "Thanks."

Or at least, I think I said it. It came out so quiet that even I wasn't sure if it was audible.

Jack blinked, clearly caught off guard by my reaction.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I was not sticking around for this humiliation.

I turned and walked away way too fast, practically speed-walking down the hallway. My heart was pounding so hard it was a miracle I could even hear my own thoughts over it.

That was a disaster. A full-blown, complete, absolute disaster.

I didn't dare glance back because that would mean caring. And I did not want to care about his reaction.

I made it to my next class without spontaneously combusting, which honestly felt like an achievement.

That didn't stop my pulse from racing like I'd just sprinted a mile.

The moment with Jack replayed in my head on a loop.

The crash.
The warmth of his hands.
The way my brain malfunctioned when he looked at me.
And Brent—watching, assessing, waiting.

I groaned under my breath and dropped my head onto my desk.

That was humiliating. And great, now he probably thought I was a bitch for jerking out of his grip like that.

Jack had probably already forgotten about it. About me.

Meanwhile, I was going to be dissecting every second of it until the end of time.

Here's your refined version with smoother flow and clarity while keeping your original tone, details, and intent intact:

The rest of class passed in a blur of half-listened lectures and absentminded doodles in the margins of my notebook. I barely even registered the bell ringing. By the time I made it to my locker, my mind was still tangled in a storm of why am I like this thoughts.

Then it hit me—I could not deal with sitting in the cafeteria today.

Nope. Not when Jack and Brent would be there. Not when I'd inevitably end up watching from a distance like some background character in my own life. Not when my brain was determined to remind me—on repeat—of how I just froze like a total idiot in front of him.

So, I took a detour.

The library was quieter than usual, which meant fewer distractions. Perfect. I found my favorite spot—a secluded corner table by the window, hidden enough that no one would notice me but positioned so I could still see people passing through. The best of both worlds.

I sank into the chair with a relieved sigh and pulled out a book. If I couldn't escape my thoughts, I'd at least distract myself.

A few pages in, my concentration wavered. My mind drifted, not toward the story, but to him.

To the way Jack's gaze had flickered—just for a second—like maybe, just maybe, he had noticed me first.

Yeah. Highly doubt it.

I sighed, snapping my book shut and pulling out my laptop instead. Editing one of my vlogs seemed like the better distraction. As I popped in my headphones and scrolled through my footage, I finally started to feel like me again—the version of me that was in control.

But then, movement caught my eye.

I glanced up—just in time to see Jack Carter walking into the library.

My stomach flipped.

He strode toward the front desk, returning a book like it was the most normal thing in the world. The librarian smiled, as always, clearly charmed by him. Because, of course. Jack Carter had that effect on everyone.

My fingers hovered over my keyboard, suddenly hyper-aware of everything.

Just looking at him. Jeez, I can't help myself. But seriously, Aria?

He turned and walked toward the exit.

I exhaled a breath I hadn't even realized I was holding.

I hesitated for half a second outside the classroom before forcing myself inside, head down, moving quickly toward my usual seat in the back.

Blend in. Stay unnoticed. It's just another class.

Jack and Brent were already in their usual spots—front row. Jack leaned back in his chair, absentmindedly tapping his pen against his notebook, his expression unreadable. Brent, ever the contrast, scrolled through his phone like nothing in the world could possibly concern him.

The girl Jack had been flirting with yesterday had her head down. Probably still upset because he'd completely ignored her today.

Perfect. They weren't paying attention.

So, they'd already forgotten about me. Good.

I exhaled slowly as I settled into my seat, keeping my head down. But then, stupidly, I glanced up.

And Jack glanced back.

There was no reaction. No flicker of recognition. Just a quick, indifferent look before he turned away.

Of course.

I was the only sophomore in this class. And Jack? He didn't interact with anyone younger than him—just the juniors in his orbit. Yet, the whole school admired him.

It was barely a second. Maybe less. A fleeting glance. Not even long enough to mean anything.

And yet, my stomach still twisted uncomfortably—like I'd been caught doing something I wasn't supposed to.

I immediately looked away, my cheeks heating.

Great. Amazing. Could I be any more obvious?

Before I could spiral any further, Ms. Daniels entered the classroom, calling for everyone's attention.

"Alright, let's get started. Today, we're focusing on character analysis—specifically, how an author develops relationships between characters and what that tells us about them."

Oh, sure. Let's just talk about relationships. Great timing.

I opened my notebook, keeping my head down as she launched into the discussion. The words floated around me, but I barely processed them.

My brain was still stuck on that glance.

Jack hadn't reacted. Hadn't smirked, hadn't made a face, hadn't acknowledged it in any way.

Which meant...

I was the only one making a big deal out of it.

The second the bell rang, I practically shot out of my seat.

Not too fast—I wasn't about to give anyone the satisfaction of thinking I was running out of class. But fast enough to escape before my brain decided to overanalyze that entire fifty-minute nightmare in real-time.

I wove through the crowded hallway, keeping my steps steady, controlled.

Just get to your locker. Get your books. Go home.

Simple plan. No reason to be dramatic about it.

The hallway buzzed with its usual post-class chaos—students laughing, shoving books into lockers, making last-minute weekend plans. The rhythm of it was familiar, predictable. A world that moved around me, never with me.

I reached my locker, twisted the lock, and yanked the door open with more force than necessary, the cool metal biting against my fingers.

It was just one interaction with Jack. Just one. Nothing deep. It ain't that deep, Aria.

Sure, he held me to make sure I didn't fall. But that didn't mean anything.

I dared a glance across the hall.

Jack stood near his own locker, grabbing his stuff for football practice, a few feet away from Brent, who was scrolling through his phone, waiting. Unlike the rest of the students caught up in the usual rush, Jack moved slower—flipping through a notebook, seemingly unbothered by the noise around him.

I watched as he shut his locker, walking off with Brent, my gaze lingering on his back until they disappeared down the hall.

Then, snapping out of it, I shut my own locker and headed toward the parking lot.

Why did I do that again?

The drive home was blissfully uneventful.

No dramatic eye contact. No did that really happen? moments. Just the steady hum of the road, my fingers tapping absently against the steering wheel, and music playing just loud enough to drown out my thoughts.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, the tension in my chest had eased.

Home.

I stepped through the front door, already expecting the routine.

Silence wrapped around me—familiar and suffocating all at once.

I wasn't lonely, exactly. I was just... used to this.

Routine.

I climbed the stairs to my room, dropping my bag onto the bed as always, shutting the door behind me. Here, at least, I could breathe.

Kicking off my shoes, I grabbed my camera and powered it on.

"Hey, it's Aria," I said, forcing a smile into the lens. "Welcome back to another episode of Me, Myself, and I—where we pretend I actually have a social life."

I kept talking, shifting topics to safer ground.

"Anyway, today's been... interesting. And by 'interesting,' I mean my social skills continue to be a complete disaster. But! We are ignoring that. Instead, let's talk about something fun—fall fashion, café aesthetics, and the fact that I desperately need a good iced pumpkin chai latte."

The second I said it, I knew what I wanted to do next.

I shut off the camera, transferring the footage to my thumb drive like always. No uploads. No one ever saw these. They were just mine—little pieces of myself, neatly stored away, unshared and unseen.

I did a quick, natural makeup look and changed into one of my favorite outfits—something that felt effortlessly put together but still me.

An oversized knit sweater, the thick, cozy fabric swallowing my hands as I tugged the sleeves down. Warm, perfect for the crisp autumn air. The earthy brown tones of my plaid skirt complemented the soft beige of the sweater, and paired with black tights and chunky ankle boots, the outfit felt stylish but comfortable.

I adjusted the strap of my crossbody bag, letting it rest comfortably at my hip. Simple, effortless, but still intentional.

I glanced in the mirror, taking in the soft waves of my hair, the lightly blushed cheeks—the contrast between the girl standing here and the one I was at school.

Then, without overthinking it, I headed out the door.

The second I stepped into The Cozy Corner, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm cinnamon wrapped around me like a blanket.

The café had always been my escape—my quiet retreat from the rest of the world. No distractions. No awkward interactions. Just the soft hum of music, the rhythmic whir of the espresso machine, and a warm, vintage-inspired ambiance that felt like a hug.

Wooden tables and chairs were arranged throughout the space, each adorned with delicate floral centerpieces, flickering candles, and neatly stacked books, creating an atmosphere that felt both relaxed and intentionally bookish.

A large bookshelf—one of the café's most charming features—stood against the far wall, filled with an eclectic mix of novels, framed photographs, and vintage trinkets that added a nostalgic charm. The walls were decorated with an assortment of framed pictures, antique clocks, and potted plants, their greenery spilling from shelves and hanging baskets, softening the rustic, homey vibe. Overhead, Edison bulbs dangled from black iron fixtures, casting a golden glow that made everything feel intimate—like time moved slower here.

Except today, normal wasn't on the menu.

Because Brent Calloway was standing behind the counter, pulling an apron over his hoodie.

I froze mid-step, blinking way too many times, like maybe if I stared hard enough, reality would shift and he'd disappear.

Spoiler: He didn't.

Brent was here. Working. In my one safe space.

I pivoted immediately, abandoning my iced pumpkin chai latte dreams and beelining for my usual corner table. Sliding into my seat, I flipped open my laptop like it was the sole purpose of my existence.

Headphones in. Play a random vlog—one of mine, as usual. Watching and editing my own footage was routine, something predictable, something I could control...

Until I heard Brent casually greeting someone.

I glanced up.

And my heart stuttered.

Because Jack Carter just walked in.

Effortless. That was the only word for him.

Jack had that unfair kind of presence—the kind that made it look like he didn't even have to try. Freshly showered from football practice, his oversized beige ESSENTIALS sweatshirt hung loosely on his frame, the kind of fabric that looked both ridiculously soft and effortlessly stylish. The bold lettering across his chest was simple, yet it drew the eye in the same way Jack did—understated, but commanding attention.

He paired it with black pants, fitted just enough to highlight his easy confidence, and crisp white sneakers—spotless, of course, because Jack was the kind of person who made even imperfection look intentional. A silver watch rested on his wrist, a small detail that suddenly made me hyper-aware of time itself—how it felt slower when he was near, too fast when he wasn't.

He scanned the café, one hand tucked casually into his pocket, the other lifting his phone.

Unbothered. Effortlessly cool. Like he didn't even realize it.

And then—because the universe is cruel—his gaze landed on me for a moment.

Until he looked away.

Panic prickled at my skin. Not because he was looking at me, exactly, but because I suddenly regretted my entire outfit. I should've gone for the lazy, blend-into-the-background look instead of this.

I forced myself to refocus, pretending to be absorbed in my work.

Which also meant... I was definitely listening to their conversation.

"Didn't know you started already," Jack said, his voice easy, but with a hint of something else.

Brent scoffed, tying his apron. "Figured I'd get paid to do nothing instead of doing nothing for free."

Something about the way he said it—flat, but edged—made me glance up.

Jack studied him, his easygoing expression slipping just slightly. Like he wanted to ask something but wouldn't. Not here.

I frowned. Something's off. The way Jack hesitated, the way Brent avoided looking at him directly... There was something unspoken between them.

I didn't have time to dwell on it.

Because Jack's attention shifted again.

His eyes flicked toward me.

Why are you looking this way, Jack? Stop doing this to me.

There was something in his gaze—curious, studying—like he was trying to place me.

Uh-oh. Please don't approach me. Please don't approach me.

I forced myself to stay still, to act like I hadn't noticed. But my heart pounded so hard I half expected it to echo against the walls.

Then—just as quickly—his gaze moved on.

Phew.

I let out a slow breath and stared at my laptop, pretending I'd actually done something productive.

Jack ordered his usual—some black coffee abomination that no sane person should drink—and I took that as my cue to leave.

Quickly, I gathered my things, slipping my laptop into my bag. I grabbed my drink and stood, moving toward the door before either of them could notice.

The universe, however, seemed determined to test me.

As I walked past, Jack scrolled through his phone, Brent busied himself with a customer, and neither of them acknowledged me.

Good.

I waved goodbye to Alice, who smiled warmly at me, then pushed open the door, stepping out into the cool air.

<>

A/N: Looks like someone is Aria's orbit and she doesn't like that. Yep, I changed a few things while editing. So, far I am liking it and hoping you guys too. Please comment, vote, and feedback is greatly appreciated.