Riley sat beneath the shade of the massive oak tree in the school courtyard, her back pressed against the rough bark, knees drawn to her chest. The ache of the principal's warning still sat heavy in her chest, echoing louder than she wanted to admit.
It wasn't just about the scholarship. It wasn't just about school.
It was about fighting so hard her whole life just to belong somewhere—and then feeling like the second she got close, it all threatened to crumble.
She heard footsteps. Familiar ones.
Zayden.
He didn't say anything right away. Just sat beside her in the quiet like he'd done it a hundred times before. For once, he wasn't teasing or smirking. Just… there.
"I know it's not fair," he said finally.
Riley didn't look at him. "You don't know what it's like to have everything riding on one chance. To feel like one mistake, one step too loud, and the whole thing's gone."
Zayden sighed. "You think I haven't felt pressure before?"
She turned to him, brows raised. "You? The golden boy with the mansion and the cars and the perfect grades handed to you?"
Zayden gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah, all of that. You know what comes with it? Expectations. From the second I could walk, my father planned my future. My mom planned my public image. And everyone else just expected me to be flawless. No room to mess up. No room to be me."
Riley blinked, caught off guard.
"You hide it well," she said quietly.
"Yeah, well, so do you."
The words settled between them like a fragile truce.
Zayden plucked a blade of grass, rolling it between his fingers. "They'll never get it, Riley. Not the way you fight. Not the way I hide. But maybe that's why this…" He gestured between them. "Why it keeps happening."
"What is this?" she asked, heartbeat skipping.
He looked at her then, really looked. The mask he wore around others was gone, stripped back to something raw and real.
"I don't know. But I don't want it to stop."
Riley's breath hitched. For once, there were no comebacks on her tongue, no sarcastic jabs ready to fire.
Because deep down, she didn't want it to stop either.
But she was scared.
Of trusting.
Of falling.
Of being hurt.
Still, when his hand brushed against hers—barely touching, but there—she didn't pull away.
She let it stay.
Just for a while.