Chapter 6: Shadows of the Past

The quad was alive with the usual first day energy: students rushing between classes, backpacks thumping, laughter mixing with the rustle of leaves in the autumn breeze. Ethan stood frozen, his coffee cup gripped so tightly his knuckles whitened. Across the expanse of green grass, Caleb Stone stared back, equally still amid the moving crowd.

Three years had changed him. Caleb was taller somehow, or maybe it was the way he carried himself: broader shoulders, a maturity in his stance that replaced the cocky swagger of high school. His dark blond hair was shorter, styled neatly, and he wore a simple hoodie and jeans that made him look like any other college junior. But those blue eyes, wide with shock, were unmistakable.

Ethan's mind reeled. Questions flooded: Why here? Why now? How?

Caleb took a tentative step forward, mouth opening as if to speak. Ethan panicked. He spun on his heel, dumping his untouched coffee in a trash bin, and bolted toward the psych building. His heart pounded louder than his footsteps. He didn't look back.

Inside the lecture hall, he claimed a seat in the back row, breath ragged. The professor droned on about the syllabus for Advanced Identity Psychology, but Ethan barely heard. Flashes assaulted him: the graduation party, the stars, Caleb's voice loud and defensive. "I'm not gay."

He pulled out his phone, thumbs hovering. Text Alex? Mia? No. Not yet. He needed to process alone.

Class ended in a blur. Ethan slipped out a side door, avoiding the quad entirely. He took the long way to Bean There for his afternoon shift, weaving through side paths lined with trees turning gold.

Carla noticed immediately. "You okay, kid? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Something like that," he muttered, tying his apron. The routine helped: grinding beans, steaming milk, forcing smiles for customers. But every tall guy who walked in made his stomach twist.

By closing, exhaustion set in. Back in the dorm, Alex was sketching at his desk. "Hey! How was day one? Any hot profs?"

Ethan dropped his bag and sank onto his bed. "Caleb's here."

Alex's pencil stopped. "Wait. The Caleb? High school asshole Caleb?"

"Yeah." Ethan recounted the quad sighting, voice flat. "Transferred, I guess."

Alex whistled low. "Shit. What are you gonna do?"

"Avoid him. Pretend he doesn't exist." Ethan stared at the ceiling. "I finally had things together."

Alex moved to sit beside him. "You still do. One ghost doesn't erase three years of work. But if you need backup, say the word. We can plot dramatic confrontations or total ignorance."

Ethan managed a weak laugh. "Ignorance sounds good."

That night, sleep evaded him. Memories crept in uninvited: freshman year, spotting Caleb in the halls, that effortless charm drawing everyone in. Caleb joking in class, high fiving teammates, always at the center. Ethan had admired from afar, heart fluttering at a simple "hey" in passing.

Why did it still hurt? Therapy had helped bury it, but seeing him unearthed everything.

The next days, Ethan mapped avoidance routes. Early classes, alternate dining halls, gym at off hours. Campus felt smaller, shadows lurking.

In therapy, he spilled it all. Dr. Ramirez listened calmly. "Unexpected triggers can reopen old wounds. How does seeing him make you feel?"

"Angry. Confused. Small again." Ethan picked at his sleeve. "Like all my progress was fake."

"It's not fake," she said firmly. "It's real. This is a test, not a failure. What boundaries do you need?"

"Distance. No interaction."

"Good start. And if interaction happens?"

"I'll handle it." But doubt gnawed.

A week later, during a lecture on internalized stigma, Ethan's mind wandered to Caleb. What had his life been these years? Football scholarship? Still the golden boy?

After class, he headed to the library, burying himself in notes. Rain started pattering against the windows, a soothing rhythm.

He almost didn't notice the figure sliding into the seat across the table.

Caleb.

Up close, he looked tired. Older. "Ethan."

Ethan's pen froze. He met those blue eyes, pulse racing. "What do you want?"

"To talk." Caleb's voice was low, hesitant. "Please."

Ethan gathered his books. "No."

He stood, leaving Caleb sitting alone as thunder rumbled outside.

The shadows were closing in.

But Ethan wouldn't let them swallow him again.

Not without a fight.