The rumors hadn't faded, no matter how hard Amara tried to avoid the whispers. Every time she walked across campus, she could feel the weight of eyes on her back, hear the snickers tucked behind hands.
"You can't hide forever, Amara," Nia said, dropping onto the bed with a heavy sigh. She had been trying all week to convince Amara to join the photography club properly — especially with the upcoming badminton event where their club was supposed to cover the games.
Amara shook her head. "I'm just... I don't want to make it worse. People already think—"
"Let them think!" Nia interrupted, throwing her hands up. "Rumors are just rumors. They'll die down faster if you don't feed them. If you stay hidden, they'll grow bigger. Just show up, act like you're there for work, ignore Kieran completely."
Amara hesitated, gnawing on her lip. She knew Nia was right. Running away was making her feel smaller, like the rumors defined her.
Nia leaned closer, her voice serious. "Don't even look at him. Not even once. Act normal. Show them you don't care about Kieran Hale. If you play it cool, people will lose interest. Rumors only live if you give them air."
Amara dropped her gaze, thinking hard. Was she really going to let fear dictate everything? Maybe facing it was better than drowning in anxiety. Maybe she could reclaim some control.
The next day, after a sleepless night of wrestling with her own thoughts, Amara showed up at the photography club again. Her stomach twisted the moment she stepped inside, but she forced her feet to move.
Max spotted her instantly and grinned. "Amara! Glad you came back."
He waved her over, handing her a folder. "We're prepping to cover the badminton event for the sports club. It's gonna be a pretty big thing. You'll probably get to help photograph during the matches."
Amara nodded stiffly, absorbing his words. So, it was official — she was in.
The club members buzzed around, organizing equipment and making lists. Amara stayed to the side, quietly helping where she could, reminding herself not to look around too much — especially not at Kieran.
At one point, she was asked to return some camera equipment to the back storage room. Grateful for the excuse to get away from the crowd, Amara grabbed the gear and slipped down the quiet hallway.
She reached the room and started setting the cameras on the shelf. But as she turned, she froze.
There, by the window, stood Kieran.
And he wasn't alone.
Next to him was a girl — tall, slender, effortlessly beautiful. Her laugh floated through the air, light but sharp. Kieran didn't laugh back; he looked... uncomfortable, his posture stiff, his expression distant.
Amara's heart stuttered.
She immediately spun around, intent on disappearing before either of them noticed her. She didn't want to get tangled in whatever was happening here.
But she didn't get the chance.
"Hey!" The girl's voice rang out, clear and biting. "Are you the rumor girl?"
Amara froze but didn't respond. She kept walking, refusing to get pulled into a scene.
Footsteps echoed sharply behind her. Before she could reach the door, a hand clamped onto her arm and yanked her around.
"Are you Kieran's girlfriend?" the girl snapped, her eyes gleaming with something dangerous — challenge, jealousy, amusement.
Amara opened her mouth, instinctively ready to deny it — to say no, to end it.
But before a single word could leave her lips, a deep voice cut through the air.
"Yes," Kieran said flatly.
His gaze was cold as he added, "Now get lost."
For a heartbeat, silence slammed into the room.
The girl blinked, stunned.
Amara could only stare, shock and confusion crashing into her chest.
The girl looked between them in disbelief. She didn't move.
Without hesitation, Kieran stepped forward and placed his arm lightly around Amara's shoulders — a casual, claiming gesture.
It wasn't intimate. It wasn't warm.
It was a warning.
The girl's face twisted in anger, and with a huff of disbelief, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her heels clacking loudly against the floor.
As soon as she was gone, Kieran dropped his arm and stepped back, giving Amara her space.
But Amara wasn't grateful.
She turned to him, her voice trembling with anger.
"Why?" she demanded. "Why would you say that? Why would you tell her I'm your girlfriend?"
Kieran opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
For once, the infamously composed Kieran Hale looked like he didn't know what to say.
Amara didn't wait for an explanation.
She shook her head, bitterness swelling in her chest, and without another word, she stormed out of the clubroom, her heart pounding harder with every step.
Behind her, Kieran stood frozen, the silence stretching like a wound.
Meanwhile Nia balanced a stack of library books in her arms, weaving through the busy campus walkway.
The books wobbled dangerously, and she muttered under her breath, trying to steady them.
She didn't notice the bicycle speeding toward her until a sharp shout broke through the air.
"Watch out!"
Before she could react, the bike swerved — and with a loud clatter, both rider and bike crashed spectacularly onto the pavement.
Books scattered everywhere.
"Oh my god, I'm sorry!" Nia gasped, crouching down to pick up the mess.
The man groaned, pushing himself up. He was a bit older than the usual crowd — maybe mid-to-late twenties?
Dressed casually in jeans and a plain jacket, with messy dark hair falling over his forehead, he looked more like a graduate student or maybe one of those full-time researchers who lingered around campus.
He wasn't exactly the type who made hearts race — just looked tired. And slightly annoyed.
"I didn't see you," Nia blurted, fumbling with her books.
"Clearly," the man muttered under his breath, dusting off his jeans.
He didn't sound angry, just exasperated.
Feeling more embarrassed than anything, Nia tried to gather her things faster.
"Um... you're not hurt, right?"
The man gave her a dry look. "Only my dignity."
She gave an awkward laugh, not knowing what to say.
He handed her one of the fallen books — a thick, battered textbook on constitutional law — and Nia grabbed it quickly.
"Next time," he said, straightening his bicycle, "try looking where you're walking."
Nia opened her mouth to apologize again but decided against it. She nodded stiffly and turned away, practically running toward the library building without another word.
As she disappeared into the crowd, the man shook his head, smirking faintly.
From his jacket pocket, a faculty ID badge briefly glinted in the sunlight — but Nia was long gone and had never noticed it.