Sunday evening settled like a sigh over campus. The clouds were thick but silent, holding back the rain as if even the sky was waiting to see what would happen next.
Emmanuel couldn't sleep. Not with the thought of Ella dancing through his mind, not with the sound of her laugh still echoing in his chest. He'd walked the length of his room three times, picked up his phone twice, and finally, he gave in.
"Can I see you?" he texted.
The reply came instantly.
"I'm outside."
---
She was there, just beyond the hostel gates, leaning against the low wall in her oversized hoodie and jeans. Her curls spilled freely around her shoulders, and in that moment, Emmanuel thought she'd never looked more beautiful.
"I had a feeling you'd come," she said, voice low.
"Why?"
"Because I couldn't stop thinking about you either."
His breath caught a little at that.
They walked. Slowly. Quietly. The streetlights buzzed above them, their shadows stretching long across the pavement.
"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm more than just a girl you want."
He stopped walking. "Because you are."
Ella turned to face him, her eyes searching. "Then tell me the truth. Tell me something no one else knows."
He hesitated.
Then, with a breath, he said, "There's a part of me I hate. The part that used girls… the part that didn't care who I hurt."
Her lips pressed into a line.
"There was a girl," he went on, "Zara. She was wild, magnetic. The kind of girl who made you feel alive and ruined at the same time. I thought I loved her. Maybe I did. But it wasn't real—it was obsession, addiction. She left when she got tired of the game."
Ella listened in silence. The air around them was still.
"And now?" she asked.
"Now… I just want peace. I want you."
Before she could respond, the sound of heels echoed behind them.
They both turned.
And there she was.
Zara.
Dressed like the night belonged to her. Tight black jeans, a fitted top, dark red lipstick—familiar and dangerous.
"Well, well," she said with a mocking smile. "Look who finally figured out what guilt feels like."
Ella stiffened.
"Zara," Emmanuel said sharply. "What are you doing here?"
"Walking. Thinking. Watching." Her eyes landed on Ella. "You're Ella, right? Heard a lot about you."
Ella raised a brow. "Can't say the same."
Zara smirked. "Don't worry, love. You will."
Emmanuel stepped between them. "Don't start."
"I'm not starting anything," Zara said sweetly. "Just reminding you who you used to be."
Then she turned to Ella, voice dropping to a whisper only she could hear.
"He may look like a new man, but don't forget—I tasted the original."
With that, she turned and disappeared into the dark, her perfume lingering like the past refusing to die.
---
Silence stretched between them as they walked again.
Finally, Ella spoke. "She's beautiful."
"She's poison," Emmanuel replied.
"But you drank from her once."
He stopped. Turned to her. "Ella… I'm not that boy anymore. I swear it."
She looked at him, eyes soft but guarded. "I believe you. But believing doesn't mean I'm not scared."
He stepped closer. "Then let me prove it every single day."
She didn't say anything.
But she didn't walk away either.
---
That night, as Emmanuel lay in bed, the storm finally broke.
Rain tapped the window gently, like a memory coming back to haunt him.
He thought of Ella—her strength, her softness.
He thought of Zara—her chaos, her hold.
And he thought of himself—somewhere between the boy he was and the man he wanted to be.
He knew this was only the beginning.
Because sometimes love doesn't just bloom.
Sometimes it burns through everything first.