The sky was overcast that day, heavy with the kind of grey that made the campus feel quieter than usual. Even the courtyard—normally buzzing with laughter, footsteps, energy—felt muted, like someone had pressed pause on the world.

Cole walked through it, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. His shoulders were lower than usual. His strides slower. There was no easy smile, no playful arrogance, no spark that made people turn when he passed.

Today, no one looked twice at him.

Today, he felt like anyone else.

He hadn’t slept. His father’s words had echoed through his head the entire night.

“Hockey won't take you anywhere.”

“Be realistic.”

“Learn your place.”

He didn’t want to think about it anymore. But it weighed on him, like a stone tied to his ribs.

He just needed… somewhere quiet.

He ended up behind the library—where the stone benches sat under tall oak trees, where the wind was softer, where the world always seemed a little slower.

And that’s where he saw her.

Clara.

Sitting on a bench, her notebook open but untouched, staring out at nothing. Her hair was pulled into a loose tie, strands falling in front of her face as the wind brushed through. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

For a moment, he just stood there.

He didn’t know if he had the right to go to her. Not after the last time. Not after the tears. But something inside him… moved. Like he didn’t have a choice.

He walked over and quietly sat beside her.

No hello.

No smirk.

No teasing.

Just silence.

Clara stiffened instantly. Her eyes flicked toward him, annoyance flashing across her face. She grabbed her notebook and began to rise.

“Don’t,” Cole said softly.

Not commanding. Not playful.

Just… tired.

Clara froze. Her hand hovered over her notebook strap. She looked at him—really looked—and finally stopped.

“Just stay,” his voice came again, low. “Please.”

The word please was new on his tongue. And she heard it.

So she sat back down.

They didn’t speak for a while. Wind moved through the trees. Leaves rustled across the stone ground.

Cole leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His jaw tightened like he was chewing words before letting them go.

“Why do you hate players so much?” he asked quietly. “Hockey players. Guys like me.”

Clara went still.

A muscle in her jaw jumped. She didn’t look at him, eyes fixed on some point in the distance.

“It’s not about hockey,” she began, voice steady but thin. “It’s about people who… treat others like toys. Like something they can use and then throw away.”

She swallowed.

“I was with someone. First year. He was… charming. Sweet. The type everyone wanted.”

A humorless breath left her. “He made me feel seen.”

Cole didn’t move.

“And then he left me,” she continued. “For Vanessa. Just because I wouldn’t give him what he wanted.”

Cole slowly turned his head.

“What do you mean… what he wanted?”

She finally looked at him. And there was something in her eyes he hadn’t seen before—wounds that never fully healed.

“That’s not your business,” she whispered.

Cole didn’t push.

He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But the way she closed up—like she was protecting the last piece of herself left—that stopped him.

She exhaled and shifted the subject with soft bluntness.

“What about you?”

Cole blinked. “What about me?”

“Why do you look like you’re carrying the entire world?” Clara asked, her voice quieter now. “What happened?”

He let out a long breath.

“My parents want me to quit hockey,” he said. “They think it’s pointless. They want me to take over the business. Be who they expect me to be.”

His hands tightened together.

“But hockey is… the only thing that makes me feel like myself. It’s the only place where I don’t have to think. Where I’m not someone’s son or someone’s future or someone’s investment.”

The wind moved softly through his hair.

“I don’t want to give it up,” he finished. “I can’t.”

Clara listened.

Really listened.

Then, for the first time, her voice softened—not from pity, not from sympathy, but from understanding.

“Then don’t.”

Cole looked up. Their eyes met.

“It’s not that easy,” he murmured.

“No,” Clara agreed. “But it’s yours. And some things are worth fighting for.”

Silence again—but different this time.

Not thick. Not sharp. But warm.

The kind of silence that fills instead of empties.

The wind swept fallen leaves across the ground. Students passed by somewhere in the distance. The world kept moving.

But here…

They were still.

Cole leaned back against the bench, head tilted slightly upward, eyes closed. The tension he’d carried since yesterday began to loosen, piece by piece.

Clara remained beside him. She didn’t touch him. Didn’t say anything else.

She just stayed.

And somehow…

That was enough.

For the first time in a long time, Cole could breathe.

The breeze rustled through the trees again, softer now. Cole opened his eyes and glanced at her — not with his usual smirk, not with mischief — but with something calmer. Something real.

“Clara,” he murmured.

She turned her head slowly, wary but listening.

He held her gaze — steady, unhurried, sincere.

“I’m not going to chase you down every hallway,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to get in your face and make you talk to me.”

Clara blinked, surprised.

“But,” he continued, voice deepening just a little, “I’m also not going to pretend you don’t exist. So…” his eyes softened, “you don’t have to run every time you see me.”

Her breath caught, just a fraction.

He wasn’t demanding.

He wasn’t teasing.

He was simply telling the truth.

“I’ll keep my distance,” Cole said. “Just… don’t disappear on me.”

Clara’s fingers tightened around the edge of her notebook. She didn’t promise. She didn’t refuse. She just breathed, slowly, and looked at him for a long, quiet moment.

And that was enough.