The week began with drizzle and whispers.
Ella had kept close to Emmanuel since the rooftop kiss, and though they didn't label what they were, the unspoken bond between them grew stronger. She met him between classes, shared quiet dinners, and sent him late-night texts that made him smile in the dark.
But the campus wasn't blind.
Rumours always found a way.
Whispers floated down lecture halls—"Zara's back."
"She and Emmanuel were a thing."
"He's with someone else now. Poor girl."
Ella heard them. She acted like she didn't. But inside, something twisted each time Zara's name came up.
---
Wednesday afternoon, Ella was walking toward the library when she saw them—Zara and Emmanuel—talking near the old garden bench by the Arts building.
Zara had her hand on his arm.
Ella stopped. Watched.
Emmanuel noticed her too late.
Zara, of course, noticed immediately—and smiled.
Ella turned and walked away.
---
That night, Ella didn't respond to Emmanuel's messages. Not right away.
Eventually, she replied:
"I don't want to compete with your past."
His response was instant.
"You're not. Please, let me explain."
---
The next day, he found her by the campus lake, reading alone.
He sat beside her, silent at first.
"She cornered me after class," he began. "I told her to leave me alone."
"I saw her touching you," Ella said without looking up. "She didn't look like someone unwelcome."
He sighed. "That's how Zara works. She makes a moment look worse than it is."
Ella closed her book. "I don't doubt you, Emmanuel. But I doubt her. And I'm scared that one day, you might not push her away."
He looked into her eyes. "Then I'll prove you wrong. Every day. Until you stop being scared."
---
Meanwhile, Zara wasn't done playing.
She enrolled in Emmanuel's elective class—Creative Writing—smiling sweetly at the lecturer like it was all coincidence.
When Emmanuel walked in that Friday and saw her seated in the front row, he felt his stomach drop.
She turned slightly, winked, and patted the empty chair beside her.
He sat at the back instead.
She laughed—low, dangerous.
---
Later that evening, she sent him a message:
"Still pretending you don't miss me?"
He didn't reply.
Then another message came, this time a photo—of the two of them, from months ago. Her sitting on his lap, him smiling into her neck.
The past doesn't die that easily.
Especially when it tasted that good.
---
That night, Emmanuel stood outside Ella's hostel gate, staring up at the window he thought might be hers.
He hated this.
Not just Zara.
But the part of himself that once loved her. The part he was still ashamed of.
---
Inside, Ella lay on her bed, headphones in, staring at the ceiling. Her friend Mariam sat on the other side of the room, scrolling through her phone.
"You know," Mariam said casually, "Tari really likes you."
Ella blinked. "Tari?"
"Yeah. He's always asking about you. He said if you ever get tired of boys with baggage, he's right there."
Ella chuckled softly. "He's sweet. But…"
"But he's not Emmanuel?"
Ella didn't answer.
---
And just like that, the lines were drawn.
Zara from the past.
Tari from the present.
And Ella, caught in the middle—trying to protect her heart, while Emmanuel tried desperately to prove he was worthy of it.
But sometimes, the heart has its own plan.
And sometimes, the past refuses to stay buried.