Chapter 6

　　I returned to campus that morning wrapped in a strange, weightless quiet and not the usual sleepy hush of early classes, but something sharper like a held breath.

　　Noah didn't text. I knew he wouldn't have known the moment I left his place but knowing didn't soften the ache of it.

　　He didn't glance at me once during the lecture, not even accidentally. His voice usually warm and full of energy when he taught, moved flatly from one student to another, deliberately skipping past me like I wasn't there.

　　He packed up before the last slide had even finished loading. His laptop was halfway into his bag as the projector still hummed, casting blue light over rows of emptying chairs.

　　I stayed behind, slowly rearranging papers I didn't need to fix. The room drained of students, their laughter and shuffling feet fading into the hallway like echoes from a life I wasn't in anymore.

　　He didn't come back out. Curiosity, maybe desperation, pushed me to the office hallway. I stood in front of his door, trying to make out shapes through the blurry square of glass.

　　He sat inside, unmoving, just staring. He wasn't staring at his computer or a paper, but at the blank wall as if it had whispered something unforgivable.

　　When his eyes met mine through the glass, something closed behind them. Then he turned his head immediately with no words or gestures but just the back of his shoulder.

　　It was enough, I walked home alone.

　　A pressure pulsed low in my abdomen, not pain exactly, more like a shifting as if something small was rearranging me from the inside. The nurse said it was normal hormones. The embryo was just finding its place but I knew better.

　　This wasn't just biology. I was carrying his child and I'd given him something else, something he didn't ask for, didn't want the piece of me I'd been saving without even realizing I'd been saving it.

　　My virginity was gone with the trust I thought might follow.

　　Evening sank through the window like wet ink as I lay on my bed, staring at the last text we exchanged:

　　Noah: Let's go to the Clinic by 11. I'll drive you.

　　Me: Thanks, see you then.

　　That was before I let him touch the parts of me no one else ever had and before I made a choice that doesn't unmake itself.

　　The screen blurred. I threw the phone onto the bed like it had bitten me.

　　A knock jolted me upright. My heart lurched, stupid with hope. I dragged on a hoodie and cracked the door.

　　Desmond leaned casually against the frame, a brown paper bag in one hand, that crooked grin in full effect.

　　"Emergency rations," he said. "You looked like you were about five seconds from fainting the last time I saw you."

　　I blinked, thrown off. "How did you know where I live?"

　　He shrugged like it was obvious. "Faculty access, campus directory, and not exactly rocket science."

　　I hesitated. Then stepped back.

　　He stepped inside like he'd done it before. He set the bag gently on my desk and opened it with the kind of exaggerated flourish that would've been annoying if it weren't so… him.

　　"I went with instinct," he said. "Got what I want if I were you. Which, I know, makes zero sense."

　　"You didn't have to…"

　　"I wanted to."

　　His voice had dropped the usual charm. There was no wink in it, no game.

　　I sat and pulled the bag open. A grilled sandwich still warm in its foil, a piece of fruit, and a cookie the size of my palm. My stomach groaned at the smell.

　　I hadn't realized how hollow I felt until the food reminded me.

　　"You okay?" he asked.

　　I nodded as I chewed. "Just tired."

　　"Morning sickness?"

　　The words landed like stones dropped into still water. I froze mid-bite.

　　His tone wasn't accusing just sharp, perceptive.

　　I looked up. His eyes were steady not unkind but knowing.

　　"You're glowing, Grace," he said softly. "And not in the filtered Instagram way."

　　My throat went dry. I looked down, twisting the paper napkin in my fingers.

　　"It's not what you think," I said, barely audible.

　　He leaned back in the chair opposite me, folding his arms. "Then tell me what it is."

　　I couldn't tell him what was going on with me.

　　The silence stretched, thick as syrup.

　　Then he spoke again, quieter this time. "Look… I'm not judging. Whatever's happening between you and Professor Bennett…"

　　"What?" My head snapped up.

　　His expression didn't change. It's just a faint tilt of the head, a softness around the eyes that made it worse.

　　"You think nobody sees it? That weird static between you two? It's like trying to walk through humidity."

　　"I'm not… He's not…" The words wouldn't form.

　　He let out a small laugh, not a mocking laugh but a tired one. "Relax. I'm not about to run off to Dean"

　　I stood too quickly, the chair scraping behind me.

　　"Thanks for the food. You should go."

　　But he didn't move.

　　Instead, he rose slowly, gaze still locked on mine. Then, with a voice so low it almost felt like a secret:

　　"You don't have to lie, not even to me."

　　I looked away, fists clenched.

　　Then he was closer, one hand lifting to brush my cheek barely a touch like he thought I might crack.

　　"Whoever he is…" His voice was barely more than a breath. "If he won't even look at you after what you gave him… he doesn't deserve your silence."

　　That was it.

　　The wall broke and tears surged up from some place I hadn't known was full.

　　He caught me in a hug before I could think twice. His arms wrapped around me like they were built for this solid, sure, unyielding. He smelled faintly of spice and clean cotton. I let him hold me, didn't stop him, not immediately.

　　When he pulled back, his hands lingered at my jaw. His eyes searched mine then he kissed me.

　　It was slow, measured, not a rushed one but gentle like he was asking a question and not making a move but it still felt wrong.

　　I pulled back, breath catching. "I can't."

　　He nodded, though his eyes had changed, something cooler settling behind them.

　　"I'll check in later," he said, already stepping back. He didn't look over his shoulder as he left. When the door clicked shut, I locked it.

　　I leaned against the wood, my heart thundered. My face was damp and my skin still burned where his hands had rested, the quiet that followed, I finally admitted the truth I'd been avoiding.

　　Noah was pulling away.

　　And Desmond?

　　He was already stepping in.