“It’s fine,” I remind her, low enough for only her.
She exhales, nodding. Her thumb keeps that slow rhythm against my knuckles.
We’re halfway to her building when the air shifts. Sharp perfume, colder than the wind.
Isabelle.
She’s leaning against the stone railing by the quad path, phone in hand, expression pure amusement. “Well,” she says, gaze flicking from our joined hands to Wren’s face, “isn’t this...surprising?”
Wren blinks, confused but polite. “Hi,” she says uncertainly.
Isabelle’s smile sharpens. “Hi. You must be the tutor.”
I feel Wren’s hand tense in mine, her spine straighten—professional, polite, defensive.
“Girlfriend,” I correct, my voice even. “Wren’s my girlfriend.”
The word comes out too easily. Too naturally. Like I’ve been waiting to say it for days.
For a second, Isabelle’s smile freezes. Then it melts into something sharper. “Right. My mistake.”
She takes her time looking between us, gaze lingering on our joined hands. “See you around, O’Connor,” she says sweetly, and her heels click away like breaking ice.
The silence that follows is thick. Wren looks up at me, confused, color rising in her cheeks. “She one of the girls you’re avoiding?”
My jaw tightens before I can stop it. “Yeah. She is.”
We walk the rest of the way without talking, her hand still in mine; smaller, warmer, realer than it’s supposed to be.
When we reach her building, she pulls free gently, tucking her hands in her pockets. “So. Isabelle seemed...intense.”
“She’s always intense.” I adjust her backpack on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about her.”
“I’m not worried.” But her eyes say she’s filing this away, adding it to whatever equation she’s building about me.
I hand over her backpack. Our fingers brush, and neither of us pulls away as fast as we should.
“Tomorrow then,” she says. “Project meeting with Theo. Two o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.” The wordgirlfriendstill tastes too good in my mouth. That’s a problem.
I want to kiss my girlfriend.
My gaze drops to her mouth—soft, parted, pink from the cold—and for half a second I imagine it: the heat of her, the way she’d inhale before she let me in. I feel it everywhere.
Foolish. One move like that, and I’d watch the walls snap back into place. I don’t risk it.
“Same time on Friday for tutoring?”
“Same time.” I want to say more—want to ask if the fake part felt as real to her as it did to me. “See you in class, girlfriend.”
The word makes her blush. She ducks her head, hiding that smile I’m learning to chase. “Goodnight, O’Connor.”
“Kieran,” I remind her. “Girlfriends use first names.”
“Goodnight, Kieran.”
The sound of my name from her mouth lands low and slow, like something claimed. It steadies me—and wrecks me at the same time.
