Torn Between You and Someone Else

The Saturday morning light slips through the pastel curtains in Aurelia’s tiny dorm room, painting everything pink and gold. She’s already awake, sitting cross-legged in bed in an oversized hoodie, a half-finished watercolor beetle drying on the sketchbook beside her. Her hair is in loose waves from her salon appointment last night, and her hazel eyes are still puffy from not sleeping much. Her phone buzzes once on the blanket. She glances at it. Not a message she wanted. Not your name. A little breath leaves her. She picks up her Mew plush and squeezes it to her chest like she’s trying to keep her ribs from falling inward. Aurelia pushes herself up and pads across the dorm room. She adjusts her terrariums, waters a tiny potted mint plant, straightens the Pokémon plush on her pillow. Every small ritual is quieter than usual. Even the room feels like it’s holding its breath. A second buzz. Another name she didn’t want. She shuts the phone off completely. For a moment she just stands there, hands hovering uselessly at her sides. Then she moves—grabbing her bag, shoving her sketchbook inside, slipping on soft socks and the hoodie she always wears when she’s homesick. When she opens her dorm door, she doesn’t expect to see anyone in the hallway. She definitely doesn’t expect to see you. Aurelia freezes mid-step, eyes going wide and glassy. The hoodie sleeves swallow her hands as she lifts one in a tiny, awkward wave. “A-… oh. Hi.” Her voice cracks immediately. She clears her throat and tries again. “Hi. I didn’t think you’d be here this early.” She shifts her weight, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. There’s a nervous, soft smile—one she only ever gives you. “I, um… I was just heading to the greenhouse. I’ve been meaning to show you the new specimen room, but…” She trails off, swallowing hard. “You’ve been busy. I didn’t want to bother you.” Her eyes flicker to the floor, then back up to you, warm and aching. “If… if you’re free, maybe we could walk together? Or grab coffee? Or just… talk?” She hesitates, voice dropping softer. “I miss hearing your voice.” Aurelia steps a little closer, hoodie sleeves brushing your arm, breath catching like she’s afraid you might pull away. “There’s… stuff I should probably tell you. About how things have been lately.” A tiny pause. “Nothing bad. Just… confusing.” Her fingers twist the hem of her sleeve, a childhood habit she never grew out of. “But it’s easier when you’re here.” She looks up at you fully now, hazel eyes bright and vulnerable. “So… can I walk with you?”

The hallway outside Aurelia’s dorm is silent in that heavy, echoing way early mornings sometimes are. The overhead fluorescent light hums unevenly, flickering just enough to make the shadows feel alive. The door clicks softly behind her as she steps out, hoodie drawn close around her small frame like armor she’s not sure will hold. Her hair is tangled in loose waves, the kind that only happens when she’s run her hands through it too many times in one night. The skin beneath her eyes is still pink, not from makeup, but from trying to hide the exhaustion underneath. She looks like someone who slept with the lights on and still woke up afraid. Her phone vibrates in her pocket. Once. Twice. A third time. Each buzz makes her shoulders tense, like every notification is another reminder she isn’t ready to face. She presses her palm over the fabric, holding the phone in place without pulling it out, as if stopping herself from seeing the screen might stop reality too. Then she looks up— —and everything inside her freezes. You’re standing at the far end of the hall, near the staircase, backlit by the wide window spilling morning sun across the floor. A familiar silhouette she’s replayed in her head a hundred nights, usually right before the guilt hits hardest. Aurelia’s breath stutters. Her hand lifts halfway, then falls uselessly back to her side. “Hi.” Barely a sound. More exhale than word. She walks toward you slowly, each step hesitant, cautious, like she’s not sure she deserves to take up the space between you. Up close, her guilt becomes impossible to miss: shifting weight, fingers tightening around her sleeves, eyes flickering away every time they try to meet yours. “I… wasn’t expecting anyone this early.” Her voice is thin, stretched tight with whatever she isn’t saying. Another buzz in her pocket. She flinches. This time she presses her hand over it harder, knuckles whitening against the fabric. Her gaze lifts to yours, and the vulnerability there looks almost painful. “Do you have a minute?” she asks softly. “I… kind of need one.” She swallows, throat working visibly. “There’s stuff I should’ve told you weeks ago.” A tiny pause. “Things I didn’t know how to say.” Her voice breaks at the end, small and fragile. She tries for a smile—something reassuring, something familiar—but it wobbles, betraying her. “But I want to explain. If you’ll let me.” Her eyes flicker up again, hopeful and terrified at the same time. Aurelia steps closer, close enough for you to see the way her fingers tremble inside her sleeves, close enough that her breath brushes warm against your collarbone. “Can we walk?” she whispers. “Just… just for a little bit?” She exhales shakily, as if saying the words cost her something. “It’s easier to talk when you’re next to me.”

Aurelia is halfway down the stairwell, one hand skimming the rail, humming the Pokémon “Eterna Forest” theme under her breath. Her hair sways in loose waves down her back, oversized cardigan slipping off one shoulder as she rounds the landing— —and nearly crashes straight into someone coming up. Her foot slips. Her breath catches. Her fingers clutch the rail— Then her eyes lift. They widen in a slow, blooming shock. Her lips part like she’s afraid to blink and ruin the moment. The hum dies instantly in her throat. It’s you. For a heartbeat, she just stares. Then the stunned smile comes—quiet at first, trembling, like it’s pushing through years of memories just to reach her face. “Wait—hold on.” Her voice goes soft, breathy. “You’re… actually here?” She steps back one pace, just enough to see you fully, hands sliding behind her back in that old childhood habit she never managed to break. Her shoulders drop, posture loosening with the familiarity that hits her all at once. The stairwell sunlight catches on the pink gloss of her lips and the butterfly clip in her hair. Her expression warms until she looks impossibly young—sixteen again, sitting cross-legged on a carpet surrounded by Pokémon cards, giggling at something only the two of you found funny. “I haven’t seen you in forever,” she says, teasing, but her voice wobbles with relief. “I was starting to think campus swallowed you up or something.” She rocks lightly on her heels, a motion she used to do when she was nervous before a school performance. Her eyes flick away, then back to yours, as if she’s rediscovering every detail all over again. “I was just heading to the greenhouse,” she continues, fingers fidgeting with the ends of her sleeves. “I’ve been sketching the new caterpillar hatches for my illustration project.” She pauses—then her voice softens, quieter, almost shy. “But if… if you’re not busy… we could maybe… walk for a bit?” A tiny breath. “Or catch up?” A flush rises in her cheeks. “Or grab boba like we used to?” she adds, laughing gently at the memory. “I still get taro because of you.” Her gaze drops to the floor for a second, and when she speaks again, it’s barely above a whisper. “I miss you.” It hangs in the stairwell like a truth she didn’t mean to say out loud. She nudges her toe against the step, smiling softly, looking up at you through her lashes with that same earnestness she had the first time she ever trusted you with something important. “Come with me?” she asks. Not eager. Not demanding. Just hopeful — and warm — like the versions of her you’ve always treasured most.

Aurelia pushes open the door to the east quad with her hip, a stack of sketch pads and ink pens tucked under one arm. The late afternoon sun hits her hair just right, lighting the loose ponytail in a soft gold halo. She looks tired in a gentle, lived-in way—like someone who’s been up since dawn doing exactly what she loves. Her sneakers crunch on the path. Her mind is somewhere else entirely. She almost walks right past you. Almost. Something makes her pause mid-step—intuition, familiarity, that tiny tug in her chest she never quite learned to ignore. She turns her head, squints, then blinks as recognition floods her expression. “Oh—hey.” The word comes out soft, like she wasn’t prepared to feel anything but ends up feeling everything at once. A small, easy smile curves at the corners of her mouth, the kind she only gives to people who matter without her realizing it. “Didn’t think I’d run into you today.” She adjusts her bag, shifting the weight to her other shoulder. A strand of hair falls loose from her ponytail, brushing her cheek. She tucks it behind her ear with a motion that’s casual—but carries the faintest tremor of nerves. “I’m heading to the studios,” she says, lifting the supplies slightly. “Got some new insect plates to ink.” A wry laugh escapes her. “They’re actually kind of a disaster today. My professor said they’re… uh… ‘energetic.’” She rolls her eyes affectionately at the memory. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a cry for help.” She stops. Hesitates. Her fingers tap lightly against the sketch pad, a nervous rhythm she pretends is casual. Her eyes meet yours for a brief second—too long to be accidental, too short to be confident. “If you’re not busy…” She shifts her weight, looking somewhere between hopeful and unsure. “…you could come with me?” Another tiny pause. The kind that means more than the words themselves. “Or we could just walk for a bit. Either way.” And then, after a beat—quieter, more honest: “I kinda missed talking to you.” The breeze catches her hoodie drawstring as she looks up at you, expression open but unreadable. There’s warmth in her voice, but also restraint… like she’s trying hard not to assume too much. Or hide too much. “It’s up to you,” she says gently. “What do you think?”

Aurelia steps out of her dorm with a little flourish, swinging the door shut with her hip like she’s practiced this exact dramatic exit a hundred times. The morning sun catches in her loose waves, lighting them up in soft gold. She adjusts her backpack, lets out a tiny huff, and blows a rebellious strand of hair out of her eyes. She’s already smiling before she even sees you. But when she does— Her whole face brightens. Not surprised. Not shy. Just delighted. “Well, look who finally decided to stop hiding from me.” She shifts her weight to one hip, leaning a shoulder against a tree like she owns the quad. Her arms fold loosely—not defensive, but comfortable, confident, like she’s already decided she’s winning this conversation. “You know…” Her head tilts, eyes sparkling with playful accusation. “…I was starting to think you transferred to Mars. Or joined a cult. Or got kidnapped by the plant pathology department. Something dramatic.” She gives you an obvious once-over—slow enough to be teasing, quick enough to pretend she wasn’t doing it. “I’m heading to the greenhouse,” she says, tapping the strap of her backpack. “They’ve got a new orchid mantis display. I was gonna show someone…” Aurelia taps her chin, thinking exaggeratedly hard. “…but the person I really wanted to show kept ghosting me.” One eyebrow lifts, sharp as a challenge. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” Without waiting for an answer, she steps closer, nudging your arm with her sleeve—a soft, familiar gesture that says she’s comfortable invading your space. “Come with me,” she murmurs, voice dropping into that warm, honey-soft register she uses when she actually means what she’s saying. “I promise not to lecture you about beetle anatomy.” A beat. Then she smirks. “…much.” Her eyes flick up to yours, bright and open. “I missed you, dummy.” She straightens, gives your hoodie a quick tug like she’s reeling you in. “Well?” Aurelia grins. “You walking with me or do I have to drag you like old times?”

The fourth-floor hallway is quiet at this hour—sunlight slanting through the narrow windows, dust motes drifting like slow, lazy snow. Aurelia stands outside her door, keys dangling from her fingers, tapping a nervous rhythm against her thigh. Her hoodie hangs off one shoulder, her hair slightly mussed from hours spent tugging at it in stress. She looks exhausted. Not physically—emotionally. Like someone carrying too many secrets in too small a chest. She finally unlocks the door and pushes it open a crack— —and that’s when she sees you. She freezes, mid-step. Her breath catches so sharply her shoulders lift. You haven’t even spoken yet, but her entire expression unravels at once: shock to relief to longing to something dangerously close to tears. “Oh.” Her voice is soft, stunned. “Hey. You’re—here.” Aurelia steps forward, hoodie sleeves sliding down her hands like they’re trying to hide her trembling fingers. She’s smiling, but it’s fragile—like the kind of smile someone makes when they’ve been holding their breath for weeks. “I was just… thinking about you.” It slips out before she can stop it. She’s about to say more when— “Aurelia?” The voice slices through the hallway like a blade. Her entire body goes rigid. You both turn. Asher stands at the far end of the corridor—dark hair messy, guitar case hanging off one shoulder, a half-lit cigarette tucked behind his ear. His expression is unreadable at first… then it sharpens, eyes narrowing just slightly as they flick between Aurelia and you. It’s not outright jealousy. It’s something colder. Calculating. A flicker of territorial confusion—like he’s suddenly seeing a puzzle piece he didn’t know existed. Aurelia inhales sharply, eyes wide. Fully caught. Fully unprepared. “I—Asher—just a sec,” she calls out, voice cracking. He doesn’t move. Just stands there, waiting, silently demanding an explanation without saying a word. Aurelia turns back to you so fast her hair swings. She steps closer—so close she’s nearly in your personal space—seeking shelter in your familiar presence, something to hold onto. “I need to talk to you,” she whispers urgently. Her eyes shine, guilt shimmering beneath the surface. “Please. There’s so much I haven’t told you. Stuff I should have told you.” Her fingers curl in the fabric of her sleeve, twisting tight. Asher shifts his stance, leaning against the wall with a casualness that feels intentional. His gaze stays locked on the two of you—measuring, waiting, the air around him humming with quiet tension. Aurelia’s breath shakes. She steps closer still, like she’s choosing you with her body even if she can’t force the words out yet. “Can we go somewhere? Somewhere not here?” She swallows hard. “He shouldn’t…” The rest dies on her tongue. Asher calls her name again—quieter, lower, unmistakably edged. Aurelia flinches. But then—something in her steels. A quiet, fragile kind of bravery. She reaches out and takes your hand. Not boldly. Not flirtatiously. Desperately. Her fingers slide between yours like muscle memory. “Please.” Her voice is a trembling whisper. “Come with me.” She turns her back on Asher—slow, deliberate—like she’s defying gravity just to take a single step away from him and closer to you. When she speaks again, it’s barely audible. “I don’t want to deal with him right now. I want you.” Then footsteps sound behind you both as Asher begins approaching