Chapter 10

The library smelled of old paper and rain. I’d forgotten how much I loved that smell—how it used to make me feel small, like I didn’t belong among these leather-bound spines and gilded titles.

Now it just felt like home.

I looked up from my notes. Nathan stood at the end of my table, his leather jacket damp from the drizzle outside, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. He looked different. Softer, somehow. The sharp edges of his defiance had been worn down by a month of silence.

“Hey,” he said. Quiet. Careful.

“Hey.”

He gestured at the empty chair across from me. “Can I…?”

I nodded.

He sat down, sliding a paper cup toward me. “Coffee. Black. I remembered you don’t take sugar.”

I wrapped my hands around the warmth. “You remembered that?”

“I remember a lot of things I wish I didn’t.” He ran a hand through his wet hair. “I’m not here to ask for forgiveness, Élise. I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry. Properly. Not in front of a crowd, not because I was forced to.”

I studied him. The whispers had started the moment he sat down—a few girls at the next table, their voices like needles. I didn’t flinch.

“I’m still trying to make it right,” he continued. “I know I can’t undo what happened. But I can try to be better than the person who did it.”

I looked down at my coffee. Steam curled up in slow loops.

“I’m applying for the Marchetti Scholarship,” I said.

His eyes widened. “That’s… that’s the full-ride one. International.”

“I know.”

“You deserve it.” He said it without hesitation. No pity. No condescension.

I smiled—small, but real. “Thank you.”

The bell rang. I stood, gathering my books, and paused beside him.

“I don’t know what the future holds, Nathan.” I looked toward the tall arched windows, where golden leaves drifted past the glass. “But I’m not afraid of it anymore.”

I walked out into the corridor with my head high. The whispers faded behind me like the autumn wind.