Chapter Four — Homegrown Beginnings

It almost felt unreal — how the same faces from high school halls now filled the college courtyard.

Ellis, Trey, Callum, Colton, Amelia, and Micah — all decided to stay local for college. It was cheaper, familiar, and close to everything they already knew. Their old town had a charm, and none of them were quite ready to let it go.

The first week felt easy. The air smelled like fall and independence. Classes were scattered across campus, but they all found reasons to meet between lectures — lunch breaks under the trees, late-night study sessions, weekend movie runs.

From the outside, it looked like nothing had changed.

But for Micah, everything had.

He hadn’t expected to feel that same pull the moment he saw Amelia again — walking across the quad, laughing with Colton, her hair catching the afternoon light.

She looked older, calmer, maybe even happier. But something in her had sharpened — like the world had touched her and she learned to smile through it.

Micah noticed before anyone else did.

He always did.

Amelia, though, didn’t seem to notice him much at all. She gave polite smiles, warm greetings, even light conversations — but never the kind that lingered.

Micah, on the other hand, caught himself watching too long again.

He told himself he was just observing. But old habits die quietly.

During a late study group, Trey joked about how weird it was that they all ended up here.

“It’s like high school part two — but with more debt,” he laughed.

Ellis rolled her eyes. “And more bad decisions.”

Amelia laughed with them, the sound soft and familiar. Micah glanced up from his notebook, pretending not to be caught by it.

Colton leaned over, sliding his arm behind her chair — casual, possessive.

Micah noticed that too.

He shouldn’t have cared, but he did.

He noticed how Amelia smiled differently with Colton — easy, open, but not deep. The kind of smile that said I’m fine even when she wasn’t.

Ellis had always been the observant one. She saw Micah’s gaze linger and, for a split second, raised a brow — curious, not accusing. But she didn’t say anything.

Later that night, after everyone left the library, Amelia stayed behind to finish her notes. The building was quiet except for the hum of the air vents.

Micah walked by on his way out — or maybe just to see her one last time.

“You always close the place down,” he said softly.

Amelia looked up, smiling faintly. “Someone’s got to keep the lights on.”

“Still the overachiever, huh?”

“Still the quiet observer?” she teased.

That stopped him. He hadn’t realized she’d noticed that part of him.

He smiled — slow, unreadable. “Guess some things don’t change.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

Her voice stayed in his head long after they both left the library.

And for the first time in years, Micah let himself remember how it felt — that quiet, dangerous warmth that came with simply being seen by her.

He didn’t know it yet, but that single conversation would be the start of something neither of them could name.

Something that would blur the line between admiration and obsession all over again

The following week the campus gathered for a toast. The lights in the small campus café glowed warm that night — strings of gold and amber bulbs hanging like stars above the crowded tables. Someone had pushed the furniture aside to make room for the long table dressed in mismatched candles and confetti. It was loud, bright, alive — the kind of night that made everything feel like a movie ending.

Amelia had won the university’s Creative Arts Award — a recognition for her short fiction portfolio. Her friends insisted on throwing her a celebration dinner.

Ellis had made the reservation. Callum brought flowers. Colton came late, carrying a tiny gift bag and his usual grin that made half the girls in the café blush.

And Micah was there too, sitting quietly near the end of the table, a sketchbook balanced on his knee.

He wasn’t supposed to come — Amelia hadn’t even realized Ellis invited him until she spotted him, half in shadow, looking slightly uncomfortable with the noise. But when their eyes met, he offered a polite smile and a small nod, as if to say congratulations from across the chaos.

“Okay, everyone, shut up!” Ellis clapped her hands dramatically, standing at the head of the table with a plastic cup of soda. “We’re here to celebrate our very own word wizard — Amelia Hart — who, somehow, found time between tutoring sessions and caffeine overdoses to win a freaking campus award!”

Everyone cheered. Amelia blushed, sinking into her chair as laughter echoed around her.

“She acts humble,” Callum said, leaning in, “but she totally practiced her acceptance speech in the mirror.”

“I did not!” Amelia said, laughing, swatting him playfully with her napkin.

“You totally did,” Ellis added. “You even texted me, like, ‘how do you make a speech not sound cringe?’”

“Okay, fine, maybe I did,” Amelia admitted, covering her face with her hands.

“Speech!” Colton called out, raising his glass. “Speech!”

Everyone joined in the chant until Amelia finally gave up and stood. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and exhaled.

“I don’t have a speech,” she started, smiling shyly, “but… thank you. For reading my drafts, for listening to me ramble about characters no one cares about, for being patient when I disappear into writing mode for days. I really mean it.”

Her voice softened. “This award means a lot to me. But not because it’s recognition — it’s because I almost didn’t submit anything. I almost let fear win again. And this time, I didn’t.”

The group clapped and whistled. Even Colton leaned over to kiss her cheek, proud and playful.

Micah hadn’t moved. But his gaze hadn’t left her once.

When the noise settled, Ellis began passing out slices of cake and everyone dove back into conversation. Micah quietly stood and slipped outside for air. The night was cool, soft with city sounds and laughter muffled by glass.

Amelia followed a few minutes later, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders.

He didn’t notice her at first. He was sitting on the café’s small brick ledge, sketching under the dim streetlight.

She hesitated. “You draw in the middle of parties now?”

Micah looked up, startled, then smiled faintly. “Sometimes. Noise makes me focus.”

“On what?” she asked, leaning beside him.

He closed the notebook halfway. “Details.”

“Like?”

He hesitated before replying. “Like how your left hand shakes a little when you’re speaking in front of people. But it stops when you talk about something you love.”

Amelia blinked, unsure whether to laugh or feel seen. “You noticed that?”

He shrugged, still smiling but not meeting her eyes. “It’s hard not to.”

“Micah, that’s…” She paused, searching for the word. “Kind of deep.”

“Kind of honest,” he countered softly.

She looked at him — really looked at him — for what might have been the first time. The dim light caught in his eyes, making them almost gold. There was nothing smug there, nothing teasing. Just quiet observation.

“Thanks,” she said finally. “For… noticing, I guess.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Congratulations, Amelia. You deserve it. Your stories feel like they come from somewhere real. Most people can’t write truth without breaking something open first.”

His voice was low, thoughtful. It wasn’t flattery. It was a kind of understanding she didn’t know she wanted.

For a moment, they stood in the quiet — two people surrounded by noise they didn’t belong to.

Inside, Colton was calling her name.

Amelia turned toward the door. “I should go. They’ll start another toast without me.”

Micah nodded. “Go. Enjoy it.”

But as she started back inside, he said something that made her stop.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “About the way you talk when it’s something you love. Don’t let anyone make you smaller than that.”

She turned back, unsure what to say. “Have a nice night Micah.”

He smiled faintly. “So do you.”

And before she could turn away, someone opened the door behind her — Colton, reaching for her hand, laughing.

“Babe, come on! They’re doing shots of espresso in your honor!”

She smiled, letting him pull her back into the light.

But even as the door shut and the noise returned, she could still feel Micah’s eyes on her — steady, unassuming, almost reverent.

And for the first time, she wondered if maybe the way he saw her wasn’t the way anyone else ever would.