Elijah didn't sleep that night.
Not really.
He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her lips still on his. Not physically, just mentally. Emotionally. Hauntingly.
Brielle had kissed him.
And then walked away like it meant nothing.
Like she hadn't shattered the fragile line between them with one reckless move.
She hadn't called. Hadn't texted. When they passed in the hallway earlier today, she didn't even flinch.
She just smirked.
That same infuriating smirk that made him feel like a science project she'd already dissected.
But it wasn't nothing. Not to him.
"Hey, tutor boy," Brielle's voice cut through the library air during their scheduled session.
She flopped into the seat across from him like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
He cleared his throat. "About yesterday…"
"What about it?" she asked, tilting her head.
"You kissed me."
She blinked. "Did I?"
Elijah stared at her. "Don't play dumb."
"I'm not. It was just a kiss." She flipped open her textbook. "Don't overthink it."
"That's easy for you to say. You're the one who did it."
She shrugged. "You looked like you needed it."
He slammed his book shut. "I don't need pity kisses."
"That's not what it was."
"Then what was it?"
She looked up then, eyes sharp. But underneath the attitude was something else. Hesitation. Maybe even fear.
"I don't know," she said quietly. "I just… felt like doing it."
"And now?"
"Now," she said, voice steady again, "we study. That's what we're here for, right?"
Elijah looked at her. Really looked.
She was putting up walls again. Fast and high.
Fine.
If she wanted to pretend nothing happened, then nothing happened.
But his heart wasn't on the same path.
Why do the moments we pretend don't matter… hurt the most?