It wasn't that Elena disliked Aiden because he was attractive. She disliked him because he knew he was attractive—and used it like a weapon. His confidence was loud, practiced, and just a little too smooth. Every time he smiled that slow, crooked smile, Elena could practically hear the collective sighs of every girl on campus.
So she wasn't surprised when they walked into the library the next evening and three girls turned to stare.
"Do you always bring this much attention with you?" she muttered.
Aiden shrugged, completely unbothered. "I don't control their eyes."
Elena rolled hers and picked the quietest corner she could find—a back table under a row of dusty history books where no one could interrupt. She needed to focus. Not just because she wanted to crush this project, but because sitting across from Aiden was starting to mess with her concentration in ways she hated.
They began working through their sources, laying out the framework for their argument. They'd settled on voter suppression in swing states and the ethics of gerrymandering. The topic was dense, research-heavy, and required a lot of technical writing. Elena was in her element.
She had her notes color-coded, timeline outlined, and resource links organized in a spreadsheet.
Aiden brought a half-charged iPad and two granola bars.
"You know this is for a grade, right?" she asked, glancing at the iPad's flickering screen.
"Relax. I took notes last night."
"On what? Your phone between DM replies?"
He smirked. "I can multitask."
Despite her sarcasm, Elena was beginning to realize something uncomfortable: Aiden was more than just a pretty face. His questions were sharp. His points were nuanced. He had a mind for structure, argument, and persuasion. Maybe he didn't look like someone who studied—but he understood people, and that was half the battle in debate.
"You're annoyingly good at this," she admitted after an hour of working in silence.
He looked up. "I'm sorry—was that a compliment?"
"It was an observation."
"Sounded like a compliment."
"Don't get excited."
But he grinned anyway.
Outside the library, the wind had turned cooler. It was the kind of early autumn evening that smelled faintly of burnt leaves and espresso. They walked down the path toward the dorms without speaking, the silence between them no longer sharp—just charged.
"So," Aiden said, his voice casual, "what made you choose Langston?"
"Scholarship," she said simply. "Best journalism program in the country."
"And dancing?"
She glanced at him, surprised. "You know about that?"
"Caught a clip from your tryout on social. You're good."
She looked away. "It's just something I do."
"It's more than that."
She didn't respond.
"What about you?" she asked finally. "Why Langston?"
"Basketball. And my dad."
"Let me guess—he played?"
"Wished he did." Aiden's tone shifted. "He wanted me to live what he didn't."
Elena caught the bitterness there, but didn't push.
They reached the dorm buildings and paused at the split path—her hall to the left, his to the right.
"I'll message you about the next session," she said.
He nodded. "Try not to miss me too much."
"In your dreams."
He laughed, turning away. But when he glanced back, she was still there.
Later that night, Elena curled into her bed, watching the ceiling as her mind replayed their conversation. Aiden wasn't supposed to be like this—complicated, layered. She hated that she was starting to see more than his surface.
Rose peered at her from the opposite bed.
"You good?"
"Yeah," Elena said. "Just thinking."
"About the guy you claim to hate?"
Elena threw a pillow at her.
Across campus, Jordan Reyes sat in the bleachers of the gym, lacing his shoes while Aiden bounced a ball nearby.
"You're weird lately," Jordan said.
Aiden passed him the ball. "How so?"
"You're actually paying attention in class. Showing up early to practice. Saying no to girls."
Aiden shrugged. "Maybe I'm evolving."
Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe a certain someone is getting to you."
"I don't like her."
"You say that a lot for someone who keeps checking his messages like she might text."
Aiden said nothing. Instead, he sank a clean shot and turned back toward the locker rooms.
He didn't want to admit it—not even to himself—but there was something about Elena Moore that got under his skin in the worst and best ways.
She wasn't impressed by him. She didn't flirt. She didn't laugh at his jokes unless they were actually funny. She challenged him, matched him, called him out.
And when she danced?
She was unstoppable.
Rose, meanwhile, was having her own distractions. She was sitting outside the dorm one evening, sipping from a thermos and flipping through her psych notes when a shadow passed in front of her.
She looked up.
"Jordan, right?" she said, blinking in the dusk.
He smiled faintly. "Yeah. You're Elena's roommate."
"That's me."
He nodded at the book. "Psych major?"
"Thinking about it."
He sat beside her, uninvited but not unwelcome. "I like psych."
"You play basketball, right?"
"Yeah."
She smiled. "Opposites attract?"
"Guess we'll find out."
Their conversation was quiet, easy. Jordan wasn't loud like Aiden. He didn't need to be. Rose found herself smiling more than expected, her heart beating a little faster.
Elena returned to find Rose still outside with Jordan, their heads tilted close in conversation.
She didn't say anything. But later, when Rose came in, Elena gave her a look.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You think I like him?"
"I think you're going to deny it, then fall anyway."
Rose rolled her eyes but smiled.
And so it began.
Two girls. Two boys. Four lives, slowly, surely, becoming entangled.
None of them knew it yet—but the games had just begun.
--
Elena slammed her pen down on the table, frustration flaring through her like a match to gasoline.
"No, Aiden, you can't start the argument like that. You're conflating two entirely different statistics!"
Aiden leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest, clearly amused. "They're related. They just need the right framing."
"They're not related the way you think they are," she insisted, tapping the paper between them. "If you open with misinformation, we lose credibility. Period."
Aiden tilted his head, his grin never fading. "You know, for someone who claims to want teamwork, you do a great job making it sound like a dictatorship."
She stood from her seat, pacing to the edge of the library aisle. "This isn't about control. It's about facts."
"You ever stop to consider that you might be wrong sometimes?" he called.
She turned slowly. "Do you?"
Their eyes locked for a full second. Heat, annoyance, challenge. It passed like electricity through the quiet library air.
Aiden finally shrugged. "Fine. We'll use your intro. But I still think mine's more compelling."
"You think quoting Twitter threads is research."
"I think real people's voices matter."
Elena didn't answer. She hated—hated—how he sometimes made good points in the middle of his arrogance. That only made it worse.
They worked for another hour with icy silence between them, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. But when the draft outline was done, even Elena had to admit it was strong.
They'd found a rhythm—one where they snapped, disagreed, corrected each other, then somehow landed on exactly what they needed.
She hated how well it worked.
When they stood to leave, Aiden held the door open. She walked past him, still irritated, but caught a glimpse of something unexpected in his expression.
Not smugness. Not mockery.
Curiosity.
"Why do you always push so hard?" he asked suddenly, following her into the courtyard.
She glanced sideways. "What does that mean?"
"I mean, you don't let anyone take over. You don't let anyone make mistakes. You're always on."
She crossed her arms. "So I'm driven. Sue me."
"I'm not saying it's a bad thing."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying…" He hesitated, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. "You don't trust anyone but yourself."
The words struck deeper than she expected.
She stopped walking.
He didn't look at her, just kept talking. "Most people fake confidence. You… actually have it. But it's like you've built this wall and no one's allowed to get close."
Elena swallowed. "You don't know me."
"You're right," he said softly. "But I'd like to."
She blinked.
That same moment, a voice called from behind them.
"Yo! Aiden!"
It was Jordan, walking across the grass with a football tucked under one arm. Rose was beside him, laughing at something he'd just said.
Elena's heart jumped. Rose looked up and waved.
"Hey! We were just going to grab food. You guys want to come?"
Aiden looked to Elena. "Up to you."
Every part of her wanted to say no. She didn't hang out. She didn't do group dinners. She had dance rehearsals and media club meetings and pages of reading.
But something about the way Aiden had just looked at her—like he meant what he said—made her pause.
"Fine," she said. "But I'm not staying long."
They walked to a small café on the edge of campus. It was a place with cozy booths, handwritten chalk menus, and strings of fairy lights tangled across the ceiling. Jordan ordered fries for the table. Rose found them a booth near the window.
Elena took the seat across from Aiden, careful not to sit too close.
Conversation flowed easily. Jordan teased Rose about her hoodie being three sizes too big. Rose teased him about his inability to pronounce "psychosomatic." Aiden cracked jokes. Elena rolled her eyes—but smiled when she thought no one noticed.
At one point, Aiden leaned toward her, voice low. "You're quieter than usual."
"Maybe I don't want to say something you'll argue with."
"Maybe I miss arguing with you."
She looked at him. "Why are you like this?"
"I don't know," he said with a smirk. "Why are you like this?"
She couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her lips.
Their eyes lingered.
The air shifted.
Rose watched from across the table, her smile softening. She nudged Jordan beneath the table. He glanced between Elena and Aiden, then grinned knowingly.
After dinner, the four of them walked back under the stars. The campus lights cast long shadows on the pavement, and for once, Elena wasn't in a rush to get home.
Jordan slowed his pace, and Rose stayed back with him, giving Elena and Aiden space.
"Did you mean what you said earlier?" Elena asked him, her voice quieter now.
"About you pushing everyone away?" Aiden asked. "Yeah."
"And you want to get close?"
He looked over at her, his expression gentler than she'd ever seen. "Yeah. But I won't push."
They walked in silence for a beat.
"I push because I don't want to fall," she said suddenly. "People always let you down eventually. So I just… don't give them the chance."
Aiden didn't respond at first.
Then: "Maybe I'm the same."
They reached her dorm steps.
She turned to face him. "Goodnight, Aiden."
"Night, Elena."
She turned to leave, but paused.
"I still don't like you," she called over her shoulder.
He grinned. "I know."
Back upstairs, Rose kicked off her shoes and fell onto her bed with a sigh.
"You're not fooling anyone, you know," she said.
Elena raised a brow. "What do you mean?"
"You like him."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I hate him."
"You hate how much you don't hate him."
Elena threw a pillow at her. Rose caught it, laughing.
"And what about you and Jordan?" Elena asked.
Rose suddenly looked away, trying not to smile.
Elena sat up. "You like him."
Rose shrugged. "I mean… maybe."
"I knew it."
"It's nothing serious. He's just… easy to talk to. And funny. And sweet."
Elena gave her a look. "Girl."
Rose laughed, hiding her face in the pillow.
Across campus, Jordan was telling Aiden the exact same thing.
"Bro," he said, stretching out on his dorm bed. "Rose is actually cool. Like, she listens. She doesn't act fake. It's weird."
Aiden tossed a basketball in the air. "So… you into her?"
Jordan smirked. "Let's just say I'm not looking at anyone else."
Aiden said nothing.
Jordan looked up. "You're thinking about Elena."
"No, I'm not."
"You're literally saying her name in your face."
Aiden let the ball drop to the floor.
"Okay," he admitted. "Maybe I am."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Jordan grinned. "We're both screwed, huh?"
Aiden chuckled. "Yeah. Big time."
And so it continued.
Rivalry. Tension. Slow-burning curiosity.
Elena didn't want to admit it.
But the wall she'd built?
It was beginning to crack.