CLOSE ENOUGH

CHAPTER 3

PART 1 walking distance

The night air wrapped around them as they moved away from the noise of the courtyard.

Music faded behind them, replaced by the softer sounds of campus at night footsteps on pavement, distant laughter, the low hum of streetlights. Ethan didn’t touch her, but he walked close enough that Maya could feel the warmth of him through the thin space between their arms.

It was deliberate.

She noticed.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence easily, “you always escape parties this fast?”

“I don’t usually come to them,” he replied.

“Yet here you are.”

He glanced at her briefly. “You’re observant.”

“I like knowing what I’m getting into.”

“That makes one of us.”

She smiled at that, turning her head slightly to look at him. Up close, his face was sharper than she remembered strong jaw, focused eyes, the kind of calm that felt earned, not practiced.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said.

“And what did you expect?”

She shrugged lightly. “Someone louder. Someone who knows people are watching him.”

“They are,” he said. “I just don’t need them to.”

They reached a quieter path lined with trees. The lights were dimmer here, shadows stretching across the ground. Ethan slowed instinctively when the path narrowed, positioning himself slightly closer to her subtle, protective.

Maya caught it.

“You do that without thinking,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Step in,” she replied. “Like earlier. Like now.”

He stopped walking.

She stopped too.

For a moment, they stood facing each other under the soft glow of a single light.

“I don’t like chaos,” he said finally. “I fix what’s in front of me.”

“And people?” she asked gently. “Do you fix them too?”

His eyes held hers steady, searching. “People aren’t problems.”

Something in her chest warmed at that.

“Good answer,” she said.

He exhaled softly, like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. “You make things complicated.”

“I make things honest,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”

He studied her again, longer this time. “You don’t hesitate much.”

“No,” she admitted. “Life already does that enough for everyone.”

They started walking again.

They passed the library, its windows glowing warmly. Maya slowed, glancing at it. “I need to pick up my schedule tomorrow. You?”

“Already did.”

“Of course you did,” she said, amused. “Overachiever.”

“Disciplined,” he corrected.

She laughed softly. “Same thing, different mood.”

They reached a bench overlooking a small pond. The water reflected the lights like scattered stars. Ethan paused.

“You cold?” he asked.

She blinked. “No. Why?”

“You crossed your arms.”

She hadn’t even noticed.

“I’m fine,” she said.

He shrugged out of his jacket anyway and held it out to her.

She stared at it. “You just said I wasn’t cold.”

“Doesn’t mean the night won’t change,” he replied calmly.

She took it, fingers brushing his for half a second.

Electric.

“Thank you,” she said, slipping it on. It smelled faintly like soap and something warm him.

They sat.

Not too close.

Not far either.

Maya swung one leg lightly, watching the water. “So tell me, Ethan Cruz why the distance?”

He leaned back slightly, resting his elbows on the bench. “Distance keeps things clear.”

“Clear from what?”

“Expectation.”

She turned to face him fully. “And what do you expect from me?”

His jaw tightened. “Nothing.”

She didn’t look offended. She looked thoughtful.

“That’s not true,” she said softly. “You expect me to leave.”

Silence stretched.

“I don’t,” he said after a moment. “I just don’t plan for people to stay.”

“That sounds lonely.”

He didn’t deny it.

She smiled, not pitying, not soft, just real. “Then don’t plan. Just… be.”

He watched her, something unreadable passing through his eyes.

“You’re dangerous,” he said quietly.

She laughed. “You say that like it’s a warning.”

“It is.”

She leaned closer, voice low. “I’ll take my chances.”

They sat like that until the night deepened and the air cooled further. When they finally stood, it felt natural like something had already been decided without words.

“I’ll walk you back,” he said.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

And yet, he did.

PART 2 First friend

The dorm entrance buzzed with activity freshmen coming and going, laughter spilling into the night. Maya stopped just before the steps and turned to face him.

“This is me,” she said.

He nodded. “Good.”

She hesitated, then reached up and tugged lightly on his sleeve. “You’re not very good at endings.”

“I don’t end things,” he replied.

She smiled. “Then this isn’t one.”

She slipped his jacket off and handed it back. Their fingers brushed again longer this time.

“So,” she said, “friends?”

He considered her carefully. “Friends.”

“Good,” she said. “Then friends exchange numbers.”

He almost laughed.

Almost.

He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. She typed her number in, added her name with a small smiley face, then handed it back.

“You added an emoji,” he noted.

“I did,” she said proudly. “It makes me memorable.”

“You already are.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

They both froze.

Maya’s smile softened not teasing now. “You think so?”

He held her gaze. “Yes.”

For a second, the world narrowed to the space between them.

Then someone shouted Maya’s name from inside the dorm.

She broke eye contact reluctantly. “Duty calls.”

She took a step back, then another.

“Ethan,” she said.

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you didn’t disappear this time.”

He watched her carefully. “Me too.”

She turned and went inside.

Ethan stood there for a long moment after the doors closed, hands in his pockets, heart steady but louder than usual.

From that night on, they began to orbit each other.

Not officially. Not loudly.

But consistently.

They studied together. We walked together. Shared meals between classes. Maya talked about fashion, ideas, frustrations. Ethan listened. Always listened.

He walked her to class when schedules aligned. He waited when she was late. He stepped in when people pushed too close.

He never said why.

And Maya never asked.

One afternoon, she found him at the campus café, head bent over a textbook, coffee untouched.

“You’re doing it again,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Doing what?”

“Overworking,” she replied, nudging his coffee toward him. “Drink.”

He did.

She smiled. “Good friend.”

He looked at her over the rim of the cup. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I am,” she admitted. “You’re easy to be around.”

“That’s new,” he said dryly.

“For you,” she corrected.

Their knees brushed under the table.

Neither moved away.

As days turned into weeks, something unspoken settled between them. Not a confession. Not a promise.

Just presence.

And for Ethan who had learned to live without expectations it was the most dangerous thing of all.

Because without realizing it, he had already started to care.