The first real smile

The morning sun broke through the haze of another sleepless night, pale golden light spilling across my bedroom floor and washing the familiar shadows from the corners. I lay there for a long while, staring at the ceiling with heavy eyes and an even heavier heart, still feeling the quiet warmth of yesterday’s small victory mixed with the dull ache of everything that still lingered unresolved inside me.

I could hear the faint clatter of dishes downstairs and the low hum of my mother’s voice, sharp as she spoke to my father, and for a moment, I considered staying in bed and letting the day pass me by unnoticed. But something in me, something small yet stubborn, whispered that if I wanted to keep proving I could stand my ground, I needed to do it again today.

So I rose slowly, every movement measured and deliberate, pulling myself together piece by fragile piece before stepping into the hallway. The house smelled faintly of coffee and furniture polish, but the air felt thick and unwelcoming, as it always did, and when I passed Ethan’s door, it was shut tight—the faint sound of music leaking out from underneath, a familiar reminder of just how far apart we’d drifted even when only a few feet separated us.

I left without a word to anyone, walking to school with the kind of determination that disguised itself as calm even though my stomach was twisting with nerves. I kept my head up through the parking lot, ignored the stares that followed me through the double doors, and found my way to my locker with my breath held tightly in my chest.

The morning passed in a quiet blur—whispered insults that I pretended not to hear, sidelong glances that I refused to acknowledge, and an invisible weight that pressed between my shoulders like a second skin. Still, I carried myself taller than before, my notebooks clutched firmly in my arms as if holding them tightly could keep the fragile pieces of me from slipping apart.

By lunch, the sky outside had turned a cool slate gray, the kind of winter light that seemed to press low and heavy, and the cafeteria was already buzzing when I pushed through the doors. I caught sight of Lucas sitting at his usual spot near the back, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he leaned over something on his phone.

For a moment, I thought about joining him—about sitting where I knew someone would at least meet my gaze without malice—but instead, I veered toward an empty table along the wall, sliding into the corner as I laid my tray down carefully in front of me.

I ate in silence, staring down at my food as the laughter and chatter swirled around me, letting my mind wander.

I didn’t notice him at first—not until a shadow fell across the table and a presence settled beside me with quiet certainty, though it carried more weight than an entire crowd.

When I looked up, Jaxon was there.

He didn’t speak immediately, just leaned back slightly in his chair with that infuriating calm of his, his arms folded loosely as he watched me with those fathomless gray eyes. His presence alone was enough to make the air feel tighter somehow, as though every sound in the cafeteria dulled around us, leaving only the two of us in sharp focus.

I swallowed hard and set my fork down carefully, forcing myself to meet his gaze even though my pulse thundered in my ears.

“What do you want?” I managed, my voice steadier than I felt.

For a moment, he said nothing—and then, slowly, his mouth curved into something I had never seen from him before.

A real smile.

Not the faint smirk he usually wore, not the guarded twist of lips he gave when he thought no one was watching, but something warmer and deeper, the kind of smile that felt rare and dangerous and impossibly beautiful all at once.

It caught me so off guard that I forgot to breathe.

“You,” he murmured, his voice low and unhurried, as though he was admitting something he’d been holding back for far too long.

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I hated how obvious it felt, how transparent I must have looked sitting there staring at him like I’d never seen him before.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out, and his smile deepened just slightly as though he could read every thought tumbling recklessly through my mind.

“Why are you here?” I tried again, softer this time.

Jaxon leaned forward just a fraction, resting his forearms on the table, his eyes still locked on mine with a quiet intensity that made it impossible to look away.

“Because,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I wanted to see how long you’d keep pretending you don’t feel it too.”

My breath hitched, my hands curling into fists in my lap.

I didn’t know what to say to that.

Didn’t know how to tell him that I thought about him every single night, even when I tried not to. Didn’t know how to tell him that something about him had a hold on me I couldn’t explain, couldn’t shake, no matter how hard I tried.

The silence stretched between us, taut and heavy with something that felt alive, and when he finally pushed back his chair and stood, he didn’t break our gaze.

Instead, he reached down, brushing his fingertips lightly against my shoulder—just for a second, just enough to send a shiver racing through me—before walking away without another word.

I sat frozen for a long moment, staring after him, my heart still hammering wildly in my chest.

For the first time in a long time, I let myself smile too.

A small smile, but real.

And it felt like the beginning of something I couldn’t quite name yet—something dangerous, maybe, but something I couldn’t help wanting all the same.

That night, I lay awake in my room, the moonlight spilling across my sheets as I replayed every second of that smile, every word he’d spoken, and every subtle brush of his hand against my shoulder.

And when I finally drifted off, his name was still on my lips.