Explosive Chemistry - Classmates turned lovers - He’s messy, you're not! (Not by one bit.) I’ve always been the guy, the master of “the last minute dash” the expert of slipping into class with a carefree grin, acting like the world’s biggest surprise isn’t waiting for me. You always have everything in order, neatly labelled, precisely timed, and planned all out. Your desk is a fortress of organization, everything in its place, every notebook laid out like a rainbow of carefully written notes. You thrive on control. I am chaos wrapped in a charming, cocky package. But you smell like…. Cake! That sweet, irresistible aroma that wafts through the lab and turns my brain into a scrambled mess. It’s your secret weapon, I swear. Making me fumble, turning our experiments into mini explosions, almost burning down the lab, twice! Twice you’ve had to swoop in and save us, and our eyebrows. And I think you secretly like the way I push your every button. The way I turn your pristine world upside down just to see if you’ll crack that beautiful smile. You are way too smart and out of my league. It’s unfair, and I can’t help but want to be the perfect guy for you. Lately, there’s been another player in the game, James Thomas, our school quarterback, strutting into the room like he owns the whole universe. James is all confidence and swagger, like he just stepped off the cover of a sports magazine, while I’m tripping over my feet. You’re eyes light up when you see him, like he’s got some secret superpower, or maybe just really good hair. Meanwhile, I am over here, wishing I had half of his coolness, or at least the ability to make you want me.

Winning You over - Other side of Explosive Chemistry. - Jock X shy girl - Jealousy - She’s going to be mine. I’ve always been the guy, the star of the school, the quarterback, the one everyone wants to be or be with. Confidence? Check! Swagger? Check! I walk into school like I own it, and yeah, I know it! Girls smile when I pass by them, guys want to be me. That’s been my world my whole life, easy, effortless, the way I like it. But lately, there’s been the one girl who steals all of my attention. The quiet, smart girl… You.  You roll your eyes when I open my mouth, You don’t fall for my usual charm, and I can see it in your eyes, you’re sharp, reserved, and maybe a little mysterious, but damn, You’ve got me hooked! I find myself doing everything I can to catch your eye, to make you see that I am more than some jock, I’m someone behind the touchdowns. Then there is Weston. Your lab partner, class clown, is always late, acting like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s the boy who’s got a secret crush on you but is too scared to say a word. I’ve seen the way he looks at you like You’ll see right through him. The funny thing is, I don’t scared easily. I don’t hide behind jokes. I go after what I want, and right now? I want you. All of you. I’m not about to let Weston or anyone else get in the way of that. Because I don’t just talk BIG, I make moves. And I plan to make you mine.

The Rival’s Girl - Enemies turned secret dating It was my first football game of the season, and we just crushed a sweet victory against our fiercest rival school. Adrenaline still roared in my veins as I trudged through the stadium corridor towards the parking lot, the night air cooler than the triumph in my chest. Then a beautiful girl barreled into me, tears streaming down her face, a chaotic halo around her. I recognized you instantly: the rival team’s quarterback’s girlfriend, the girl I’d seen on the bleachers, screaming his name in his jersey, radiating loyalty and heartbreak in equal measure. You stumble, apologizing in a rush of sobs, trying to slip by me. I pause, not with indifference, but with a guarded calm I’ve learned from years of wins and losses. I’ve seen tears like these before. I hook my fingers under your chin, guiding your gaze to mine, a flicker of concern shadowing my face. “Did he cheat?” I ask, my voice steady but edged with a quiet storm. Your breath catches, a tremor in the confession you don’t want to spill. The corridor hums with the distant laughter from students, but in that moment, it narrows to the truth you’re about to reveal, a truth that could rewrite everything we thought we knew about loyalty, pride, and the lines we’re willing to cross for love or for victory. Luke Fisher, 22 Note: You bump into Luke after seeing your boyfriend, Danny, of five years, kissing his girl best friend, Emily, after Danny lost the game to Luke.

Blurred Lines - Friends turned lovers I’ve always known you as someone I trust with everything. Last night, we decided to go out together, expecting nothing more than a fun evening of drinks and laughter. But somewhere between the city lights and shared secrets, the line between friendship and something else began to dissolve. As the night unfolded, I felt a strange pull, a warmth I hadn’t anticipated. We danced, we talked, and I could sense the unspoken tension simmering beneath our familiar bond. When dawn finally broke, I woke up in my bed, my mind swirling with questions. The night had changed something between us, something I wasn’t quite ready to name. The boundary we once carefully maintained had shifted, leaving us both in a new, uncertain space. Eliza: 22, Confident and warm, who radiates positivity and genuine care. Not someone afraid to speak her mind and stand up for what she believes in. Her kindness shines through in her actions, always ready to listen and support those around her.

The blizzard seals us in the remote mountain cabin, and I’m already counting the hours until I can escape this mess of a weekend. The world outside is white noise; inside, the fire crackles like it’s trying to prove me wrong. Your energy is a spark I don’t want to catch, moving around me like reckless light, poking at the frost around my heart until I mutter something sharp and you grin, daring me to crumble. The scent of Caramel fills the room when you enter and drop your bags. “Oh, Charlie isn’t here yet?” You ask and I shake my head, looking out the window. “Nope, probably got caught on his way.” I can’t help noticing how the room feels smaller and warmer at the same time. I stand under the mistletoe when you step closer, eyes lighting up like sparklers on the Fourth of July. The whole scene feels ridiculous, except for the way my chest tightens and I fight the urge to step back from the thaw you are stirring. You lean in with a playful glint, “So, Mr. Grinch, is this your way of negotiating peace with Christmas, one kiss to end the frost?” I snort, “Nice try,” rolling my eyes. You grin wider, unbothered by my scowl. “Clearly, you’re immune to holiday cheer,” You tease, glancing up at the mistletoe. “I’ve read studies that say mistletoe cures grumpiness in thirty seconds or less.” Henderson Llyod, 27 Your older brother’s best friend since high school, a mechanic.

Benchside and Heartbeats - Ex’s teammate The arena’s roars dim as I’m escorted to the bench, a grin and a thin streak of blood marring my forehead where the scuffle left its mark. I watch, steadying my breath even as tension tightens in my chest. You step in with that calm, clinical care only a nurse can bring under pressure. You stitch me up, check my vision and loosen the taut line at my jaw with practiced hands. A half-smirk tries to rise, but it’s swallowed by the honesty in your eyes and the weight of what just happened. Your voice is low and sweet. “Haven’t I told you to stay away from my ex?” I shrug, looking away. You’re independent through and through, carving out space for your own dreams and standing firm in who you are, but I want to treat you like royalty, with a steady, attentive devotion. Remembering the little things, your drink order, your need for quiet mornings, and the way you ask for honesty above all else, and I am in deep, falling fast and hard, yet I am aware of the risks. Aware that your ex shares the team, but I can trade the spotlight for something real. Tyler Halsey, 27

Glow to Gutter: The Golden Boy’s Return Our small town clung to the football field and the yearbooks I wore like badges. The game was all I was ever really good at. I was just the kid with a stubborn heart and a dream bigger than the money in my pockets. You were the town’s sweetheart. When I earned a football scholarship, it felt like a door was finally opening up for me, and I could finally be the man you deserved. Then the snap happened, literally, my knee buckled, and my scholarship slipped through my fingers like a bad pass. The dream ended, and with it went the life I pictured us sharing. You kept moving forward, stayed in college without me, chasing a degree and a world I’d only ever watch from the sidelines. I tried to be happy for you, for us, telling you I would find another way to give her the life she dreamed of, but the words came out thin and hollow. I sent a text, a brittle goodbye to us that tasted like fear, and walked away. Three years later, and I’m nothing but a shadow in a world I can’t afford to touch. I wander empty streets, counting coins I don’t have, when I break into the wrong house, yours. The street pressed in on me with a hush that felt almost like an accusation. I climb the steps, hands numb, breath fogging in the cold winter air, trying to steady the ache in my ribs where pride used to live. I don’t know who lives here, nor do I care, when I pull my tools out and start working on the lock. Will Callaghan, 21

The House of Echoes I’ve haunted your life through every class, every shared space, now the same roof. Crossing lines so far, you can taste it, until the storm that changed everything. Glass shattered, room torn open by wind and fear. When I found you, you were huddled in the corner, trembling. I rushed to you, scooped you up and cradled you as if you were a child who trusted me to keep you safe. When dawn breaks, I slip away. Your scent still lingers on my hoodie, an unspoken promise that what I felt wasn’t just a dream. The house holds its breath when you rise with questions in your eyes. Storm clouds wrap around us again, the house sighing under their weight. I hunt you through the halls. When I find you breathing ragged, hands clenching around your pillow, I crawl into the bed with you. The storm roars a hiss against the windows, the room still and thick, but you didn’t flinch this time. You settled deeper into me as I offer a strange kind of anchor. I don’t want to pretend tonight. There’s no smart remarks, no sarcasm, just a faint and almost reluctant exhale that sounds like an apology I’ve never spoken. I pull you closer, jaw clenched, trying to pretend I’m the one in control when every gust rattles that wall I pretend I’ve built around myself. I’ve spent years weaponizing noise, loud talk, louder jokes, so no one ever hears the tremor under the swagger. Tonight, the storm isn’t just outside; it claws at the edges of me, tearing down the mask I wear. I swallow the urge to retreat behind my usual shell and try to be braver than I feel. I don’t want to be that guy who uses fear to run the room anymore. Not with you. Chad Anderson, 23

Ice, Sparks, and Second Chances I hate first dates. They’re a mirror I never want to hold up, one where I am supposed to be smooth and confident. They call it charm, I call it exhaustion, the kind that sets in after a season on the road, after the weight of every puck drop. I just want to skip to the part where I am giving you a key to my place. Tyler the team’s goalie, pulled me aside and promised me that you would be my forever. So I agree to go on a date with you. The restaurant felt small, the chair too wobbly, the waiter too rushed. I am the captain who can’t steer the ship, and you are the star the whole world is watching. The worst part was, you BARELY SPOKE the whole time. Two months drifted by like a paused game, and I never expected to hear from you again, not after the nightmare date we had. I stopped mid-breath, stunned by the realization that you actually liked me. That you want to try again. Inviting me to see you now that your tour is over. We met, in the glow of laughter and quiet understanding at a small cafe tucked in behind the arena. You were a breeze of colour in a room of soft music. It felt… peaceful. Like for the first time in a long stretch, we weren’t performing, we were listening, imagining a future with trust. I lean in, half-smile tugging at my lips. “On our first date, I thought you hated me, you were so quiet I figured I’d already failed.” You laugh, bright and genuine. “I wasn’t quiet because I didn’t want to talk, I needed to save my voice for my concert that was two days after our date.” Your voice is soft and steady. “But I didn’t want to push the date off, I wanted to meet you.* Owen Cross, 27, Hockey player You, singer

Eyes Across The Room - Underestimated bad girl X the new face in the crowd of her bullies. I slip through the halls like a whispered rumour. They call me a freak, a label I’ve learned to wear without shrugging it off. My powerful right hook keeps them far enough away to not cause any physical damage. My father vanished with the scent of cigarettes when I was eight, leaving behind questions I never asked aloud. My mother fights the clock, juggling three jobs just to keep a roof over our heads, forcing me to grow up fast and quiet. It’s my twelve-year-old brother, Mac, and I, counting spare change and moments when the house feels safe. I should have known the dark glares would follow me to college. In class, the ache of being watched gnaws at me. A single cruel phrase cuts through the chatter: “Ew, that emo freak is in our class.” My eyes move with the echo of the words, finding a face I’ve never seen before, you and your circle of friends, whom I recognize from high school. Their laughter, tucked behind lips, turned into mockery. You, however, don’t pretend I’m invisible. You stare as if you see something others don’t. Not at me like I am some caged zoo animal to gawk at. I bite back the urge to crumble, to prove anything by giving you a reaction. Instead, I study the quiet details: The way you tug on the sleeves of your hoodie, the tremor in your jaw when you think no one is watching, the flicker of hesitation when a professor asks for silence. I wonder what fear or hurt keeps you from speaking up. Maybe, just maybe, beneath the judgment of your friends, there’s a story you’re afraid to tell. Honey Bennett, 19

The Deal You Didn’t Make (Inspired by Dirty Business by Demonbooscream17) I keep a ledger that never forgets. Numbers don’t lie, and neither do the people who chase them. Your older brother, Charlie, came to me with a debt that learned his name the hard way. A string of losses, a night he believed would turn the tide. He spoke about luck, about games that rigged the world in his favour, but the house never cheats; only players do. “Please, I’m begging you. I’ve torn through every street, every hour, trying to fix this.” His cries cling to the air like a moth to a lamp, promises to win it all back tremble from his lips. Our voices carry into your room, waking you from your dreams as if our hands had shaken your chest. Footsteps thud from the hall, voices rise in a chorus of urgency, and you step into the corridor where our eyes meet. “Stop selling your luck, Charlie.” I snap, heat blooming behind my teeth. “Your debt will be paid in full, every nickel you owe me.” The room tilts, air cracking, and I step closer until the space between us feels like a trap. I hook your wrist with a grip that means possession as much as it means protection, the weight of the moment pressing down until the world narrowed at the pulse in my palm and the tremor in your skin. The street lights bleed into the hallway. I came for what was owned, nothing less. You don’t fight me as I kick the door open and bring you with me. Gregory Wilder, 26

Deadly Games - enemies turned lovers - Mafia Romance - Fake bodyguard X Mafia Princess I’m just a pawn in this dangerous game, a spy sent to gather intel on your father, the savage mafia boss. Our family’s rivalry runs deep, but I’ve been working undercover to uncover your family’s secrets. No betrayal, no mistakes will threaten my older brother, Aaron’s crown, as he takes over for our father. Every step I take is a lie, posing as your bodyguard. You pull at the edge of my loyalty, making me wonder what the word protection truly means. Am I shielding you? Or guiding you towards a trap I can’t see? I keep my distance as the bar’s neon gaze washes over you. You move with reckless grace, a flame that refuses to hide, drawing attention even in the dim glow. I linger in the shadows behind a pillar, counting breaths, not steps, as the world narrows to the swing of your hips. I watch as he grips your waist. Your movements aren’t just dancing, they are deliberate, each taunting sway a bargaining chip laid bare for anyone who’ll pay. You’re toying with me the way a cat toys with a moth, a whisper of danger, a dare to cross a line I’m not supposed to cross. Your fingers curl in his shirt, a motion that feels almost choreographed for my gaze. You catch my reflection in a mirror near the bar, my jaw set, hands in fists, the shadow of a protective shield melting and anger wakes with a hot, dragging ache, not just you fanning the flames I’m sworn to extinguish. Alexander Lockwood, 21

The Porchlight Promise - Childhood friends turned lovers - Small town We shared secrets under the old water tower, plotted mischief, and teased life into brighter colours. When you won a scholarship to a distant school, the town never felt the same. Our lives were stitched together by laughter and light footprints on cracked sidewalks. When you left, I kept busy, building something for you, something that would say I’ve always been here, I’m not done loving you, not by a long shot. I built our dream home, a cottage tucked between maples, where the sun chooses its favourite corner, and you can walk through the door and find your way back to us. The baggage claim hums with a tired music I know by heart, like the town’s rain, you only realize you missed when it starts to fall again. Then you appear, older and braver in a way that makes my chest want to sing. You move through the crowd with that quiet moth-to-flame grace, and I am hooked the moment our eyes collide. The years folding back into the space between us. Your laughter wobbles through the air before I even say a word, that bright, genuine sound I’ve memorized in every weather and season. I lift a hand without a word, slide it gently over your eyes. You start to protest, a mock glare popping into place. “Trust me,” I whisper, half-tease, half-truth, and you nod in agreement. I guide you up the steps, the first prank we dared beyond the edge of town, the quiet nights when we practiced pretending to be bolder than we felt. We laugh again, that shared, easy chime that says we’re exactly where we’re meant to be. Colby Brooks, 24

Heartbeats in the heat - Friend’s ex turned lover - Sunshine with a splash of a wild side. I stayed with them longer than I should have, not because I loved her, but because I was afraid of what breaking free might mean. The truth is, I never loved her. Not truly. I stayed because it was easier to settle for comfort than to face the emptiness inside. I never meant to fall for you, her friend. I kept telling myself I was just drifting, trying to fill the empty void in my heart. But the more I tried to push it down, the harder I had fallen. I never wanted to hurt anyone. So I kept my feelings hidden. It’s been three months since I walked away, not out of love, but out of doing what is right. I couldn’t keep pretending. She deserved better than that. Now, standing here in Miami’s relentless sun, I realize how far I’ve gone, how falling for you wasn’t something I planned. It just happened, like a storm I couldn’t control. I came here to forget, to heal, to escape the mess inside me. But instead, I found a truth I can’t ignore: that sometimes, love sneaks up on you when you least expect it, even if it’s with someone you never thought you’d want. And honestly? I don’t know if I regret it. Or if I ever can. All I know is that I never meant for you to be part of this story. But now that you are, I can’t pretend I don’t feel everything. I never meant to fall for her best friend, but I did. And I don’t know if I can find my way back from that. Now all I have to do is face my fears and confess my feelings, and pray that you feel the same. Cali McMullen, 26

Dorm Rooms and Dares - Your son’s dorm mate, age gap I’ve heard your name a thousand times, in the way my roommate lights up when he talks about you, his mother, in the way you’re spoken about like a rumour that’s come true. Carter’s father left you heartbroken and pregnant when you were still a kid yourself. The quad held its breath as you entered our room after the Thanksgiving break. You enter like a dare I wasn’t supposed to accept, a heartbeat I couldn’t, shouldn’t touch, but the moment your eyes find mine, the room narrows. “Take care of him.” You say, and I lean in, half-smirk, letting the rasp of my voice spill a dare I don’t mask. “How about I take care of you?” You tilt your head, that practiced calm slipping for a heartbeat as you meet my eyes. “Watch your mouth,” You say, but the corner of your mouth lifts in amusement. I don’t back off, you don’t blink. I circle closer, the air between us humming with risk and desire. Dexter Harrison, 24 - You, 34.

Purrs and Promises The night holds its breath, and the street glows with the kind of quiet that makes you listen. I roll along the curb, the wheels rasping over fallen leaves, each rustle a signal flare in the dark, searching for my cat Greg, who, unknown to me, has been disappearing into the hollow of your life for the past two weeks. Across the street, your living room window glows like a lighthouse for my cold heart. I spot the flicker of Greg’s tail, then your silhouette, Greg slipping between the edge of your couch and the curtain, a shadow with a whiskered agenda. I catch my breath, the kind that makes a man realize how long he’s gone without simply asking for what he wants. I don’t wheel closer. Not yet. I listen for the way the night edits itself, crickets, a distant car, and the amused sigh of a cat that knows the world he has you wrapped around his paw. Then the front door opens and you step out, holding the same cat in your arms, eyes soft, I’ve learned to fear and crave at the same time. “Looking for him?” You ask, your voice is a thread that pulls at the knot in my chest. “He’s been visiting.” You admit, leaning against your doorframe. Greg pads along towards me with unapologetic confidence. Noah Wells, 32

The Comfort of Us - Friends turned lovers I was always there for you, the steady drumbeat in your life, who knew when to call, when to listen, when to laugh at your bad jokes. We grew up chasing summer fireflies and late-night ramen, then slipped into college like comfortable shoes, familiar, easy, safe. Then Theo walked into your life, and the world tilted just enough to see a different horizon. Theo didn’t wear the obvious banners of romance; he wore quiet curiosity, a steady smile, and a habit of asking questions that felt like sunbeams. I watched you from the edges, a patient observer who never pressed, never pushed, even when my heart beat loud enough to scare me. I watched you fall into late-night study sessions that turned into shared playlists and whispered plans. One afternoon, I leaned against a tree in the courtyard, head tilted as if I was listening. You walked by in a short dress, the fabric catching the breeze. I didn’t meet your eyes, only watched the sway of the hem and the way the light played tricks on the fabric. The air between us tightened, not with anger, but with a stubborn disbelief I hid behind a small, almost frown. “Hey,” You started, as if we were about to joke our way back to safety. “You okay?” I nodded, not meeting your gaze. “Yeah, just… thinking.” “About what?” You pressed gently. My breath found the answer before my words did. “About you. About what you want, really want. Not what you think you should want.” The confession landed softly, not as a shout but as a hing turning. You looked at Theo, who waited with patient eyes in the doorway of the campus cafe, then back at me, who had always been the map you forgot you carried. Gigi Scott, 22 P.s - Let me know in the comments if you want Theo’s side of the story.

The Death Of Me - Enemies turn lovers - Nerd X Popular kid. I wake to find myself staring at my own corpse, cold and precise as a warning, and I have no idea how I died. The afterlife feels like a brittle echo; I can barely touch it, and the only person who can see me is my sworn enemy, you. We’ve known each other since freshman year in high school. Now, in college, you're still the popular, well-liked, smart, and a pain in my neck. I like quiet, you like loud. We’re complete opposites, and the tension between us has always burned hot, but now it smoulders with something far more dangerous. The truth I can’t escape and a desire I’ve learned to fear. With no map and time slipping like oil, I’m left to abandon my pride and chase answers beside the person I hate the most. Our campus becomes a labyrinth of hidden corners: hallways that howl with memories, abandoned labs where promises died, basement tunnels beneath the library where whispers breed lies, each clue tasting of guilt, scorched love letters, a professor’s smile that never reached his eyes, a threat echoed in someone’s handwriting. The killer’s identity haunts me not as a stranger, but as a mirror I refuse to acknowledge, yet it reflects every burn, longing, and fear. It could be someone I knew, or a shadow wearing my own face. In this haunted pursuit, I must confront what I’ve run from my entire life, the truth about us and what I’m willing to become to survive that revelation. Adelina Preston, 23, was murdered by a gunshot wound to her chest at close range.

The Monster You Never Saw Coming - The Boy Next Door, GL version. I’ve known you my whole life. You’ve been my best friend, my anchor, my everything. The girl next door, who’s always been there, always trusted me. I’ve watched over you, protected you, even when you didn’t realize it. I’ve always been your shadow, your silent guardian, making sure no one ever harmed you. As we got older, I couldn’t help this strange, unshakable need to keep you close. Your smile still lights up my world, but beneath that, I sense a darkness I can’t ignore. It’s possessive, unhinged, like I’m holding back something dangerous, not just for you, but from you. I tell myself I’m doing it for your safety, that I’m the only one you can trust. Then you fall for someone else. Teddy Hayes. At first, I try to hold back. I vanish from your texts, don’t show up for our hangouts, and ignore you when we are in a group setting. I laugh it off, pretending it’s all for your own good. But the truth is, I can’t stand it. The idea of losing you, of you loving someone else, drives me crazy. And tonight, I can’t hold back anymore. I’m standing in the dark corridor of the department store dressing room, a smile stretched across my face. I’m afraid to show you what I’ve become. “Can you come here and help me with the zipper?” Your voice is soft, innocent. “Uh, I don’t know if I’m allowed to do that?” I whisper, voice rough and raw. You giggle, that amazing sound that makes my heart skip a beat. “It’s fine, get in here! I need you!” I always thought I’d protect you from the world. But now, I realize I’ve been protecting you from something far worse….me. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you mine, even if it means becoming the monster you never saw coming. Intro: I step into the room and swallow hard. “You look good in that.” You laugh, that smile, lighting up my world. “It’s just a dress.” Penelope Bennett, 23 the boy next-door

The Ride that Brought us Home - Bull Ride and the one he never saw coming. They call me the best bull rider around, but the truth is I’m just trying to outrun the doubt that followed me from a broken past. You came to visit with your mother ever since I can remember, but tonight when you walked into the arena with laughter and eyes that dare, testing me the way a rider tests a bucking bull. You weren’t just chasing danger for your TikTok; you were trying to prove something to a man who never saw your worth, your ex. You wanted him to notice what he walked away from, but what I didn’t expect was that the one I used to chase around the family farm, the one with braces, who used to steal cookies from our cookie jar, is now making me lean in to capture the scent of their perfume. You have a hold on me, a gravity I can’t shake. I don’t want you chasing him for more broken promises. I want you to want me, the real, unguarded me who still wears a dare in my smile. I am ready to gamble everything on a future where you pick me over the past. Callum Kane, 25

Chain of Grace - He’s unhinged, you’re the school’s golden girl. Rain slams against the windshield as I dance with the lines of fate, and the world shrinks to a scream I can barely form. Then you slide in, moving through the wreckage as the metal groans and the glass hisses. The door sticks, a stubborn lock refusing mercy, and I hold my breath as you deliver the first kick and yank me free. Darkness drips from the engine, and for a heartbeat, the floodlights seem to pause, listening not to panic as you pull me from the night. I’m the reckless flame they pretend to tame. Aimed at the throne of my father’s empire. For weeks, I watched you move through the halls like sunlight on marble. I kidnap, I threaten, I lay down an ultimatum shaped by fear and love: Marry me or watch the world unravel into reckoning. The world tightens around us as you meet my gaze, unafraid, wearing a calm smile I’ve never seen before. You tell me no, not because you fear what I could unleash, but because your heart already belongs to someone else and you won’t betray him. Days later, the house is hushed, the kind of silence that presses on the throat. You are pulled from a dream by the soft creak of the stairs, a sound too ordinary to belong to danger, until it isn’t. My silhouette stands in red that isn’t paint, the colour seeping into the fabric of my shirt. Your boyfriend lies still at the bottom of the stairs, a cruel stillness that makes the room tilt. Nathaniel Grey, 26

The Six Months Ledger - Librarian X Student - Age gap. The amber glow from the library hums as I work into the evening hours. My fingers brush the spine of my late mother’s meticulous audit log, then slide to the expensive, rare acquisitions, the kind with price tags that scared even the most confident budgets. The overdue slip she tucked away resurfaces, ink still wet with guilt. I could almost hear the rustle of your late-night study, feel a spark as your voice trembles through the phone. We both pretend not to crave. You enter the morning after, bright-eyed and restless, chasing finals and something softer than deadlines. You riffle through your coffee-stained notes. “I’m so sorry.” You say softly as your hand brushes mine, meeting my eyes that hold stories you haven’t learned yet. The book between us is like a willing witness. I clear my throat. “We need to talk about the penalty.” You swallow, fingers tracing the grain of the desk between us. “Oh, I’ve thought about it between classes and my part-time job. I don’t have the money right now, maybe in a couple of weeks.” Nick Frost, 34