The week after the storm stretched on longer than it should have.
For Aria, it was the same routine — lectures in the morning, part-time work in the afternoon, home before dark. Yet something about her rhythm had shifted. It was subtle, quiet, but constant — like the faint hum of a melody that refused to leave her head.
Every time it rained, she thought of him.
Every time she walked past a black car, her heart jumped before she told herself not to be ridiculous. Damian Rael belonged to a world too far from hers — a world that glittered with polished perfection, while hers was built on borrowed time and unpaid bills.
But curiosity has a way of softening reason.
Aria was shelving books at the campus library when she first saw him again.
It was a Wednesday afternoon, the quiet hour between classes when most students were elsewhere. She was halfway up the ladder, stacking a pile of hardcovers, when a familiar voice drifted up from below.
“Still climbing your way to the top, I see.”
She froze mid-step. Slowly, she turned her head.
Damian stood by the nearest table, hands in his pockets, looking infuriatingly composed in a charcoal coat that seemed to belong on a magazine cover.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, descending the ladder carefully.
He lifted an eyebrow. “You make it sound like I’m trespassing.”
“You’re not exactly a library type.”
He chuckled. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
“Do I need to?”
That earned her a quiet smile — not mocking, not amused, but soft. “Maybe not. But I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Because of the rain?”
“Because I wanted to.”
That answer again — simple, sincere, and somehow disarming.
Aria set the books down, trying to appear indifferent. “I’m fine. You didn’t need to check on me.”
“Maybe not.” Damian’s gaze flicked toward the shelves behind her. “But I’m starting to think you like pretending you don’t need anyone.”
Her breath caught. “And you like thinking you can read people.”
He stepped closer — not enough to be intrusive, but close enough that she felt the faint trace of his cologne. “Maybe I’m just curious.”
“Curiosity doesn’t always lead somewhere good.”
“True,” he said softly. “But sometimes it leads to something real.”
For a moment, the world went still — the smell of paper, the muffled hum of the air conditioner, the quiet rhythm of two hearts caught in the same silence.
Then Aria looked away, pretending to reorganize the shelf. “If you came here to flirt, you’re wasting your time.”
“I didn’t come to flirt,” Damian said. “I came because… I wanted to see you again.”
Her fingers froze against the spine of a book. “Why?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He said it honestly, and somehow that made it worse.
They spent the next half hour walking through the quiet aisles, talking about anything but themselves — literature, architecture, the strange comfort of solitude. Damian seemed genuinely interested in her opinions, even when they clashed.
“You really think people only read to escape?” he asked as they walked toward the exit.
Aria shrugged. “Of course. Stories make reality bearable. Isn’t that why we dream?”
He smiled faintly. “Or maybe stories are the only place we tell the truth.”
“Now you sound like someone who’s read too much poetry.”
“Maybe I have.”
She laughed, and it startled them both. It was a rare sound — light, unguarded — and it made Damian’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t expect.
As they reached the door, he paused. “Coffee?”
Aria blinked. “Now?”
“Yes. Unless you’re afraid people will talk.”
“People already talk.”
“Then let them,” he said, holding the door for her. “I’m not good at pretending I don’t care.”
And just like that, curiosity won.
The café near campus was small and warm, its windows fogged from the rain that had started again outside. They took a seat by the window — Aria with her hot chocolate, Damian with black coffee.
He watched her blow gently on her drink before taking a sip. “You always choose chocolate over coffee?”
“Caffeine makes me anxious,” she said. “Chocolate reminds me I can still afford small happiness.”
He studied her for a moment. “You really see the world differently.”
“Differently from who?”
“From most people I know.”
“Maybe you’re surrounded by the wrong people.”
He smiled at that, leaning back in his chair. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”
“Why should I?”
“Because people in my world usually do.”
“Then maybe your world needs more honesty.”
There was a flicker of admiration in his eyes — genuine, unfiltered. “You surprise me, Aria.”
“And that bothers you?”
“No,” he said quietly. “It fascinates me.”
Her heart stumbled again, and she quickly looked away. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because people like you don’t mean them.”
He frowned. “People like me?”
“Rich. Untouchable. Temporary.”
For a second, something in his expression darkened. “You think I’m temporary?”
“I think your world is.”
The silence that followed was heavy, but not cold. It was full of things unsaid — tension, curiosity, and a dangerous kind of pull.
Then, softly, Damian said, “You’re wrong.”
“About what?”
“About me.” He leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t start things I don’t mean to finish.”
Her pulse skipped again, traitorously. “That sounds like a threat.”
“Maybe it’s a promise.”
Outside, thunder rumbled. Inside, her chest did the same.
After that day, they began crossing paths more often — sometimes by accident, sometimes not.
He’d show up at the library again, pretending to browse but always finding his way to her section. She’d bump into him near the campus gates, where he’d offer a ride that she usually refused but secretly appreciated.
It was never planned, never spoken about. Yet, each encounter chipped away at the invisible wall between them.
He learned that she loved music but couldn’t afford a guitar. She learned that he hated expensive restaurants because they made him feel like an exhibit.
He found her determination beautiful.
She found his loneliness haunting.
But neither dared to call it what it was — not yet.
One late evening, after her shift, Aria stepped out of the library to find Damian waiting by his car again.
She sighed, half exasperated, half amused. “Do you always appear like a ghost when I least expect you?”
“Maybe I just have good timing.”
“It’s getting suspicious.”
“I’ll take that as progress.”
He opened the passenger door. “Come on. Let me drive you home.”
“Damian—”
“I promise no lectures this time. Just… company.”
There was something tired in his voice — something that made her nod without arguing.
They drove in silence for a while. The radio played softly, an old song humming beneath the rain’s rhythm.
“Rough day?” she asked finally.
He sighed. “My father thinks emotions are a weakness.”
“And you?”
“I think emotions are the only proof we’re alive.”
She glanced at him, surprised. “That doesn’t sound like the Damian Rael everyone talks about.”
“That’s because no one ever asks who I really am.”
There was pain in that admission — quiet, restrained pain. And for the first time, she saw the man behind the money: someone shaped by pressure, not privilege.
Without thinking, she said, “Maybe you just need someone to remind you.”
He looked at her, eyes dark and unreadable. “And you think you’re that someone?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you could be.”
The words hung between them like an open door neither dared to walk through.
They reached her house. She hesitated before stepping out. The rain had stopped, but the air was thick with everything they didn’t say.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“For what?”
“For showing up.”
He smiled faintly. “You make it sound like I did something noble.”
“You did something human.”
That silenced him. He watched her reach for the door handle, and before she could open it, he said softly —
“Aria.”
She turned.
“I don’t know where this is going,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to stop.”
Her breath caught. “Damian…”
He shook his head slightly, a hint of a smile ghosting across his lips. “Don’t say anything. Not yet.”
And before she could reply, he leaned closer — not close enough to touch, but enough that she felt his warmth.
Then he whispered, “Goodnight.”
She stepped out, her heartbeat a storm.
That night, Aria couldn’t sleep. She lay awake replaying every word, every glance, every silence. There was something dangerous about what was happening between them — something beautiful too.
She knew the world would never approve.
She knew hearts like hers didn’t survive men like him.
But curiosity had turned into something else — a pull too strong to ignore.
And somewhere deep inside, she realized:
She was already standing on the edge.
The edge of something she couldn’t name.
The edge of something that could ruin her.
The edge of something that felt like love.
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