LINES WE DON’T CROSS

Chapter 4

PART 1 — Unsaid things

By the third week of freshman year, people had started noticing.

Not loudly. Not officially. But in the quiet way rumors form through glances held a second too long, through patterns that repeat themselves until they feel intentional.

Maya and Ethan.

They weren’t a couple. They didn’t hold hands. They didn’t sit pressed together or whisper in corners.

But they were always… there.

Walking side by side across campus. Sitting across from each other in the café. Leaving lectures at the same time even when they entered separately.

Maya noticed the looks before Ethan did.

Or maybe he noticed and simply chose not to react.

They were walking toward the science building when a group of girls passed them, their laughter soft but deliberate. One of them glanced back, eyes lingering on Ethan, then flicked to Maya with something sharp behind the smile.

Maya didn’t slow.

But she leaned just slightly closer to Ethan as they walked.

He adjusted instantly stepping half a pace nearer to her, his shoulder almost brushing hers. It was subtle. Automatic.

She glanced up at him. “You do that without thinking.”

He didn’t look down. “Do what?”

“Match me.”

He considered that. “Maybe I just walk this way.”

She smiled to herself.

They reached the building steps, and she stopped suddenly, turning to face him. He halted too, brows lifting faintly in question.

“You’re free tonight?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Good,” she said. “Dinner. Not cafeteria.”

He hesitated. Just a fraction.

“Where?”

She tilted her head. “You’re asking a lot of questions for someone who already agreed.”

“I didn’t agree.”

“You did,” she said calmly. “You just haven’t accepted it yet.”

A corner of his mouth twitched.

“Seven,” she added. “I’ll text you the place.”

Before he could reply, she stepped back, walking up the steps with confidence, leaving him standing there with a faint frown and something unfamiliar in his chest.

Expectation.

The place she chose wasn’t expensive.

That surprised him.

It was a small family-owned restaurant just off campus, warm lights glowing behind fogged windows. Inside, the smell of spices and fresh bread hung heavy in the air. Tables were close together, the hum of conversation low and comfortable.

Ethan arrived early. Out of habit.

He took a seat near the window, posture relaxed but alert. When Maya walked in five minutes later, conversation seemed to dip around them not stop, just soften.

She wore jeans and a simple top, hair pulled back loosely. No makeup beyond lip gloss. She looked… easy.

“Hi,” she said, sliding into the chair across from him.

“Hi.”

“You came early.”

“So did you.”

She smiled. “I like that.”

Menus arrived. They ordered without much discussion, falling into an easy rhythm that surprised them both.

For a while, they talked about small things classes, professors, dorm food complaints. Maya spoke animatedly, hands moving as she explained her ideas. Ethan listened, occasionally offering dry observations that made her laugh.

“You don’t say much,” she noted between bites.

“I listen,” he replied.

“Same difference?”

“No,” he said. “Listening means you care what comes next.”

She paused, studying him.

“That explains a lot.”

He met her gaze. “Like what?”

“Like why people tell you things they don’t mean to.”

He shrugged. “They trust me.”

“Do you trust them?”

“Rarely.”

She nodded slowly. “That tracks.”

Silence settled—not uncomfortable. Just thoughtful.

“Maya,” he said suddenly.

She looked up. “Yes?”

“Why me?”

The question landed gently but firmly between them.

She didn’t deflect.

“I could ask you the same,” she said.

He shook his head. “I didn’t choose this.”

She smiled softly. “Neither did I.”

“But you leaned in,” he said. “You keep leaning in.”

“Because I want to,” she replied simply.

“That’s not enough.”

“For you?” she asked.

“For anyone,” he said. “Wanting something doesn’t make it safe.”

She rested her chin on her hand. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you don’t care.”

“I care,” she corrected. “I just don’t let fear decide for me.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then glanced away, jaw tightening.

“You come from a world where consequences don’t look the same,” he said quietly.

Her expression softened. “You think money makes things easier?”

“I think it makes damage quieter,” he replied. “It gets cleaned up faster.”

She leaned forward slightly. “You think I don’t get hurt?”

He met her eyes again, and something shifted.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that you don’t have to live with it the same way.”

She inhaled, then exhaled carefully.

“Maybe,” she said. “But pain still hurts. No matter who you are.”

He didn’t argue.

When dinner ended, they walked back toward campus under a sky heavy with clouds. The air smelled like rain, the kind that lingered but didn’t fall.

“You walk me home every time,” she said.

“I walk everyone home,” he replied automatically.

She stopped.

“Do you?” she asked.

He stopped too.

“No,” he admitted.

She smiled not victorious, just warm.

They stood there for a moment, the space between them charged.

“I’m not asking you for anything,” she said quietly. “Not labels. Not promises.”

“What are you asking for?” he asked.

She stepped closer. Close enough that he could see the faint freckles near her collarbone. Close enough that he felt the heat of her.

“Honesty,” she said. “If you don’t want this, tell me.”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t step back.

Didn’t step forward either.

“I want this,” he said finally.

Her breath caught but she didn’t rush him.

“But,” he continued, “I don’t know how to want it without ruining it.”

She reached out then not to touch him, just to rest her fingers lightly against his wrist.

“You don’t have to know everything,” she said. “Just don’t disappear.”

He closed his hand gently over her fingers just for a second.

“I won’t,” he said.

And for someone like Ethan Cruz, that was everything.

Rain finally began to fall soft, steady drops. He shrugged off his jacket and held it over her head without comment.

She laughed quietly. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Protecting me.”

He looked at her then really looked.

“Someone should,” he said.

They reached her dorm, rain-soaked and breathless. She turned to face him under the small awning, water dripping from the edges.

“Goodnight, Ethan.”

“Goodnight, Maya.”

She hesitated. “You’re thinking again.”

He was.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said instead.

She smiled. “I know.”

She stepped inside, leaving him alone in the rain.

Ethan stood there longer than necessary, jacket still in his hands, heart steady but louder than it had ever been.

Because lines were forming.

And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending not to cross them.

PART 2 — Too close

The rain didn’t stop when Ethan finally turned away from the dorm.

It followed him.

Not physically, he barely noticed the water soaking through his shirt as he walked but in the quiet rhythm it set in his chest. Steady. Persistent. Impossible to ignore.

He didn’t go back to his room right away.

Instead, he walked the longer route around campus, hands in his pockets, head down, letting the night stretch. The conversation replayed in fragments. Maya’s voice. Her certainty. The way she hadn’t asked for promises, only presence.

Just don’t disappear.

He had meant it when he said he wouldn’t.

That was the problem.

The next morning, Maya woke with the faint, unfamiliar feeling of anticipation.

It sat just beneath her ribs as she brushed her teeth, as she pulled on a sweater, as she checked her phone and found a message waiting.

Ethan:

Morning. You have class at nine, right?

She smiled to herself.

Maya:

You’ve been paying attention.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Ethan:

Coffee?

She didn’t hesitate.

Maya:

I’ll meet you.

When she stepped out of the dorm, he was already there, leaning against a tree near the entrance, hands wrapped around two cups. He straightened when he saw her, expression neutral but eyes alert.

“You didn’t have to wait,” she said.

“I wasn’t,” he replied.

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re standing still.”

“Yes.”

She laughed softly and took the cup he handed her. “Thank you.”

They walked together toward the main path, the campus buzzing awake around them. Students hurried past, conversations overlapping, the world moving fast.

Ethan adjusted his pace without thinking when she slowed.

She noticed.

“You’re doing it again,” she said lightly.

“Walking?” he asked.

“Staying,” she corrected.

He glanced at her. “You make it sound like a choice.”

“It is,” she said. “Everything is.”

They reached the lecture hall steps. Maya stopped, turning toward him.

“You’re not coming in?” she asked.

“I have lab,” he replied. “Later.”

She nodded, then hesitated.

“Hey,” she said. “Dinner tonight?”

He paused. Just a second.

“Yes,” he said.

Her smile widened, satisfied but not surprised.

Over the next few days, the line between friends and something else blurred further.

They studied together in the library, sitting across from each other, feet brushing under the table. Ethan noticed when she lost focus, sliding a pen toward her silently, tapping the page she’d drifted away from. Maya noticed when he grew tense, distracting him with quiet commentary until his shoulders relaxed again.

They shared meals sometimes planned, sometimes accidental. They walked together without labeling it. They talked about everything except the thing hanging between them.

Until it was impossible not to.

They were sitting on the grass near the quad one afternoon, textbooks open but mostly ignored. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows. Maya lay back on her elbows, watching the clouds.

“You never talk about your family,” she said casually.

Ethan stiffened almost imperceptibly.

“They’re… fine,” he said.

“That’s not an answer.”

He glanced at her. “It’s the one I give.”

She didn’t push. Instead, she rolled onto her side to face him.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” she said. “But don’t shut me out either.”

“I’m not,” he replied.

She held his gaze. “You are.”im

Silence stretched.

“My parents run a small supermarket,” he said finally. “I help out when I can. Deliveries. Stock. Whatever’s needed.”

“That’s it?” she asked gently.

“That’s enough,” he replied.

She smiled. “I like that.”

He looked away, uncomfortable with the warmth in her voice.

“You shouldn’t,” he said quietly.

She sat up, folding her legs beneath her. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because liking me complicates things,” he said.

“I’m already complicated,” she replied. “You’re not adding much.”

That earned a short, surprised laugh from him.

She leaned closer. “Ethan.”

“Yes?”

“You keep warning me like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He met her eyes. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m choosing you,” she said simply.

The words landed heavily.

He stood abruptly, pacing a few steps away before turning back.

“You don’t get to say that like it’s simple,” he said, voice low. “You don’t know what comes with me.”

“Then tell me,” she replied.

“I can’t,” he said. “Not without changing things.”

“Maybe things need to change,” she said.

He stared at her, something raw flickering beneath his calm.

“You don’t walk into fire just because it’s warm,” he said.

She stood, closing the distance between them. “No. You walk into it when it’s worth the burn.”

They were too close now.

Close enough that he could smell her shampoo. Close enough that his restraint felt thin.

“Maya,” he said, warning threaded through her name.

“Yes,” she replied softly.

He didn’t move.

Neither did she.

The moment stretched fragile, charged.

A voice cut through the air. “Yo, Ethan!”

Jace jogged toward them, oblivious. “You’re late for practice.”

Ethan stepped back instantly, the distance snapping into place.

“I’m coming,” he said.

He looked at Maya again, something unresolved in his eyes.

“I’ll see you later,” he said.

She nodded. “You always do.”

He walked away.

Maya watched him go, heart steady but full.

She wasn’t afraid.

Not yet.

That night, her phone buzzed as she lay in bed.

Ethan:

Are you awake?

She smiled at the ceiling.

Maya:

Yes.

There was a pause.

Then:

Ethan:

I’m not good at this.

She turned onto her side, fingers flying.

Maya:

Good at what?

Ethan:

Letting people close.

She typed carefully.

Maya:

I’m not asking you to let me in all at once.

Three dots. Gone. Back again.

Ethan:

You make it hard to keep distance.

Her chest warmed.

Maya:

That sounds like a compliment.

Another pause.

Ethan:

It’s a confession.

Her breath caught.

She stared at the screen, then replied.

Maya:

Then let’s not lie to ourselves.

Minutes passed.

Then:

Ethan:

Tomorrow. Come with me.

She sat up.

Maya:

Where?

Ethan:

You’ll see.

She didn’t ask more.

Maya:

Okay.

She set the phone down, heart racing not with fear, but with certainty.

Wherever he was taking her, it mattered.

And whatever line they were approaching

They were about to cross it together.