It started with a text from Elena.
| You ever go to the library for the vibe? Not even to study?
Alexander had stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering.
| Yeah. Sometimes. Depends on the vibe, I guess.
Elena:
| I'm here now. Third floor. Windows.
That was it. No emojis. No elaborate explanation.She didn't ask if he wanted to join—just told him where she was.
So he went.
When he reached the third floor, the glass-paneled windows flooded the space with warm light, the late afternoon sun gilding the tops of the dusty bookshelves. It was quiet. Not the heavy kind—more like a hush that invited presence.
He spotted her instantly.
Legs tucked under her in a big chair by the windows, headphones on, hair tied back, face lit by her laptop screen. She looked peaceful in a way that didn't require a performance.
Alexander approached, and she looked up with that kind of small, real smile people give when they didn't realize they were hoping you'd show up.
She pulled off one earbud. "Hey."
"Hey." He dropped into the chair across from her.
"You don't have to talk," she said. "I'm just decompressing."
"I don't mind quiet."
"Yeah," she smiled again, "I know."
They didn't say much after that. He pulled out his notebook and pen, scribbled through some design sketches for a brake caliper he'd been helping Diego with. Occasionally, she stretched or made a soft humming sound to her music. At one point, she slid a pack of gum across the table without looking.
It wasn't a dramatic scene.It wasn't a declaration of affection.But for both of them—it stuck.
Because being near each other had started to feel like something they didn't want to let go of.
Naomi was the one who invited them both.
"Small bonfire behind the dorms," she'd said in a group chat. "Bring marshmallows or music. I don't care. Just don't bring drama."
Elena had hesitated before texting Alexander.
| Going to Naomi's bonfire thing tonight. You showing up or hiding in your cave?
Alex:
| Depends. Are you trying to get me there for socializing or labor?
Elena:
| Just bring that face of yours. People'll assume you're the bodyguard and behave.
He showed up twenty minutes late, hoodie pulled over his head, a case of bottled drinks in one arm. The fire flickered tall against the dark, laughter filling the air. Someone was playing a guitar badly. The flames smelled like cinnamon and smoke.
Elena spotted him as soon as he stepped into the glow. Their eyes met across the circle of half-strangers.
She didn't wave.
He didn't smile.
But when she got up to grab a drink, he followed.
They stood together off to the side, a little too close to just be friends, but not close enough for anyone to say anything.
"You good?" he asked softly.
"I'm good," she said. "You?"
He nodded. "Didn't think I'd come. But…"
"But?"
He glanced at her. "Kind of glad I did."
She didn't say anything. Just nudged his arm lightly with her elbow.
They stayed for another hour, making small jokes. Talking to others. But they circled each other quietly, orbiting without ever crashing. And when they both left—separately—it still felt like they had shared something real.
It was late. Too late for texts that didn't carry weight.
But Elena messaged him anyway.
| I left my phone and bag in the studio, and I think I locked the back door behind me. The security guy doesn't want to help unless I "prove" I belong there. | Any chance you could come vouch? You've seen me dance, technically. 😅
Alexander responded within a minute.
| On my way.
He pulled up in the WRX, windows down, music low.
Elena stood outside the side door of the studio, arms crossed, looking equal parts amused and frustrated.
"You're going to owe me gas money at this rate," he said as he stepped out.
She grinned. "Please. You've spent more on that car's rims than I'm worth."
"That's debatable."
She blinked. The moment stretched—only for a second—but it landed.
He glanced at the door. "Let's get your stuff."
Inside, after some back-and-forth with the grumpy security guy—who eventually left, muttering about "kids these days"—they found the studio dark and echoing.
Elena walked ahead, then paused in the middle of the floor. She turned back toward him.
"I ever thank you for that night?" she asked.
"Which one?"
"That… first one. Outside the party."
He shrugged. "You don't owe me anything."
"I know," she said. "But I think I would've broken a little that night if I hadn't found someone who just… stood there with me."
Alexander didn't answer right away. He stepped forward until they were maybe a foot apart.
"You didn't break," he said, his voice low. "You just cracked a little."
"And you patched it?"
"No. You did that yourself."
The silence that followed was intimate, but not pressing. Not loaded with expectation. Just close.
Then she smiled—soft, real. "Thanks for showing up again."
He nodded. "Anytime."
Later that night, they texted briefly.
Elena:
| You always show up.
Alexander:
| I don't show up for everyone.
Elena:
| …I know.
They weren't anything official.
Not yet.
But there was something in the way they kept finding each other—in moments both big and small—that made it feel like they were building something that mattered.
Not fast.Not loud.
But real.
And for both of them, that was more than enough for now.