the game begins

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Chapter 5: The Game Begins

Lucien was everywhere now. Like a shadow stretching across her days, he appeared without warning, blending seamlessly into Aurelia’s routine. At first, it seemed harmless — even considerate. He held the library door open when she was buried in books. He shared coffee during long breaks between lectures. He laughed at her jokes, complimented her intellect, and seemed to remember every little thing she had ever told him. He was, by all outward appearances, the kind of friend who simply showed up — the kind she hadn’t known she needed.

But soon, the presence that once felt supportive began to feel stifling.

He never crossed a clear boundary, never gave her a reason to accuse him outright. Yet, there was a subtle pressure in every word he spoke, in the way his eyes lingered too long, in how he always seemed to know where she would be. Sometimes she wondered how he got there before her, waiting by the hallway or loitering near her department with no real reason.

“I thought you might need company,” he would say with an easy grin, always disarming.

He told her stories — of his childhood in cities she had only read about, of mysterious friendships and heartbreaks and spiritual experiences. He described encounters with people who had left their mark on him, made him wiser, more aware of life’s illusions. It was all romantic, intense, full of color and longing. Sometimes, she felt like she was caught in a story he was still writing.

“You remind me of someone,” he said one day, his eyes tracing hers with unnerving sincerity. “She was like starlight — distant, beautiful, and always out of reach.”

Aurelia didn’t know how to respond. She felt simultaneously flattered and uncomfortable.

But behind those grand stories, another narrative was unfolding. One he reserved for others. He was charming, yes — but to his peers, he began planting subtle doubts, little remarks that sounded harmless on the surface but carried hidden barbs.

“I’m just saying… Caelum’s not the type to stay interested for long,” he’d mention casually during lunch with classmates.

Or: “He’s distant for a reason. He doesn’t want to get too close to anyone — Aurelia should know that.”

Or worse: “She’s sensitive. I just don’t want her to get hurt. I’ve seen him do this before.”

He said it with concern in his voice, like a friend worried for someone who was clearly fragile. And the more he said it, the more it spread. It was the kind of lie that didn’t need proof — it simply required repetition.

One afternoon, Aurelia sat beneath the old oak tree near the art building, her sketchpad resting on her knees, though her pencil hadn’t moved in several minutes. Lucien found her there, as if summoned by some invisible thread.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, easing down beside her. “Thinking about him?”

Aurelia gave him a guarded glance. “Not really.”

“Liar,” he said softly, but without malice. “It’s okay. You cared. I know you did.”

She didn’t answer. The silence between them felt heavier than it should have.

“He doesn’t care about you,” Lucien said finally, his voice low and calm — too calm. “He’s moved on.”

The words landed with the weight of a stone in her stomach. Her fingers tightened around the pencil.

“He said that?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Lucien shook his head slowly, as if it pained him. “He doesn’t have to. I can see it. The way he looks at you — or doesn’t. You deserve someone who sees you entirely, who doesn’t make you feel like an afterthought.”

Her heart twisted at his words. The truth was, she had noticed a change. Caelum had seemed more distant lately. Or maybe she was imagining it? Had Lucien’s words planted doubt… or revealed something she hadn’t wanted to see?

“He’s not playing games, Lucien. I don’t think he’s that kind of person.”

Lucien tilted his head, watching her. “Maybe not. But sometimes… silence is a kind of game. Especially when you don’t know where you stand.”

She looked away, her chest tightening with confusion. Her mind raced through recent memories with Caelum — the walk in the garden, the way he had looked at her, the way his words had stirred something in her soul. That had felt real.

But then again, he hadn’t messaged her. He hadn’t sought her out after that afternoon. She had waited — foolishly, maybe — for a sign. Something.

Lucien reached out, gently touching her hand. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Aurelia. I just want to protect you.”

She flinched at his touch, almost imperceptibly, but enough to feel her own body’s discomfort.

“I’m fine,” she said, pulling her hand back. “I can protect myself.”

Lucien smiled, but there was something cold beneath the curve of his lips. “Of course you can.”

But she didn’t feel fine. She felt unravelled — like someone was slowly rewriting her memories, one seed of doubt at a time.

That night, she sat alone in her room, surrounded by the hum of silence and the whisper of her thoughts. Her phone buzzed once. A message.

From Caelum.

It was simple:

"Hey. I’ve been thinking about you. Can we talk tomorrow?"

Her heart leapt.

But then — Lucien’s voice echoed in her mind: “He’s moved on… He doesn’t need to say it. I can see it.”

She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Everything inside her warred — trust and fear, truth and illusion.

And somewhere in the dark, the game had begun. Not of love, but of perception. And Aurelia wasn’t sure who the player was anymore — or whether she was being played herself.

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