Chapter 23
DIEGO
I sit at the back of the lecture hall, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, staring at her empty desk at the front of the room.
She is late.
It’s uncharacteristic of her. And entirely my fault. It feels odd sitting here waiting for her. The seat is uncomfortable and foreign, as if I no longer belong here. Maybe I never did.
When she dropped that Mr. Kahale on me last night before leaving, I knew I was fucked. Kicked back to the first day with her, no, actually, worse than that. She knew nothing about me on the first day, so I had advantages and hope. Today, I have none of that.
The classroom is already half full, and people’s idle chatter grates against my nerves as more filter in.
I’ve been here for twenty minutes, usually too early in my book, but necessary so I don’t miss her.
Not after last night, not after she walked out of my life with tears in her eyes and venom in her voice.
Kokami
I watch the door like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
My chest tightens with hope each time it swings open, only to deflate when it’s not her.
I recheck my phone. Nothing. My calls to her, all eighteen of them, are still unanswered.
My simple “call me” or “please give me a chance to explain” text messages were delivered but unopened.
The sound of her boots clicking on the floor reaches me before I see her. My head snaps up, and there she is. Her eyes are puffy, the faint traces of redness betraying the tears she must’ve cried. But even like this, she’s beautiful.
She always is.
She carries herself with the same grace and quiet confidence that drew me to her first. She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t even glance my way.
I can’t blame her.
The room fills up quickly. I stay rooted in my seat, helpless as more students pile in, forming an invisible wall between us.
I want to get up, go to her, apologize, and explain until my throat is raw and she says we’re okay.
But there’s no way to reach her without causing a scene, and the last thing I want is to embarrass her again.
I stay where I am, watching as she sets her bag down and begins arranging her notes on the desk. Her movements are efficient and methodical, as if she’s forcing herself to focus on the routine instead of everything else.
Her voice is steady as she begins the lecture, but I hear the strain beneath it. The way she takes an extra second to breathe before diving into the material.
She talks about policy frameworks and environmental ethics. All shit I’ve heard before and couldn’t care less about. All I can think about is how much I’ve fucked everything up.
Hollister’s fucking words replay in my head.
She’s not worth it.
Just take another class.
What the fuck does he know about women? Other than how to fuck them? Why the hell didn’t I go to Dom that night? Why did I have to spill my guts to the one friend who’s never had a girlfriend that I know of and treats women like shit?
I should’ve punched him.
God, I wanted to.
But instead, I threw him out, slammed the door, and grabbed my phone to call her.
I called and called. Paced my apartment like a madman as the line rang repeatedly, each unanswered call twisting the knife deeper.
Her voicemail picked up every time, asking me to leave a message in that polite and professional voice.
I didn’t leave any.
What could I say?
No apology would be enough to undo the damage.
Not over fucking voicemail. Every plan I’d started to build in my head.
How we’d spend the weekends, all the places I wanted to take her to, and how I could drive her to school after morning sex from her sleeping over.
It all came crashing down. And it’s my fault.
Hollister didn’t betray her trust.
I did.
I’m the one who talked out of turn, who didn’t protect what we had.
I wanted her so much that I never thought about that conversation getting back to her.
The fact that I talked to my friend and his accusation of needing a good grade from her passed his mouth without an ounce of truth was the nail in the coffin between us.
I watch her now. Her fingers curl around the marker she’s using to write on the whiteboard, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she explains a concept. She’s avoiding looking in my direction, and it guts me.
Does she hate me?
She should.
What right do I have to ask for her forgiveness? I broke the one rule we set to keep us private, and now she thinks everything we had was a lie. But it wasn’t.
You played me better than anyone else ever could.
Her eyes had blazed with betrayal and heartbreak.
It makes my stomach churn. I didn’t play her.
I never could. If anything, she’s the one who’s been playing on a loop in my head since the moment we met.
Pushing me away every chance she got until I begged to be in her life, begged to stay inside the walls with her, where everything between us just made sense.
Every smile, every touch, every damn thing about her.
Now it’s all gone.
The lecture ends, and the students begin packing up their things. I wait until the room is empty to talk to her, but she’s already gathering her stuff. I stand, my legs feeling like lead, watching her leave without a second glance.
I follow her into the hallway as she weaves into the sea of students, intentionally avoiding me. I get caught behind a group of chicks, blocking the hall and talking nonsense. The distance between us spreads as she veers to the right, taking another corridor.
By the time I get around all the packed bodies of students trying to make it to their next class, she’s disappeared. I slow to a stop, wondering where she’s going as she typically has back-to-back classes, or so I thought.
Maybe she’s taking the rest of the day off and getting a teaching assistant to cover the rest of her classes.
Then, like a bolt of fate from the universe, I realize she’s probably in the faculty lounge.
The one I sprinted to when her dad wanted coffee.
I race down the hall, shoving people out of the way.
Their protests yell at my back, calling me names that I don’t care about.
I skid to a stop before the closed door. My hand is heavy on the aged wood as I slowly open it to reveal her sniffling. Her back is to me. Her shoulders shake.
When she hears the door hinge squeak, she turns around quickly. Her napkins fly up to her eyes, trying to wipe away any evidence that she’s crying, but her skin is splotchy, and the tip of her nose is red.
“You’re not allowed in here.”
Her voice is slightly raw, maybe from the lecture, but most certainly from me.
“Always with the rules, Rossi,” I say, trying for levity, but my voice cracks halfway through.
I clear my throat and step further into the empty room, closing the door with a soft click. Calling her Isabella is too personal, miles away from where we are. Professor is too formal for what I intend to say to her.
Rossi, it is.
Her expression hardens when she sees me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. They’re too full of sadness and exhaustion to carry the fire I saw last night.
“What do you want, Mr. Kahale?”
The way she spits out my last name has me hating it again. I take a step closer, fighting the urge to reach for her like I did so many times last night, only for her to swat my hands away.
“I want to explain.”
Her laugh is bitter and short, like it’s been forced out of her.
“Explain what? How your frat friend outed you for using me. That’s the only reason why you pursued me, wasn’t it? Or are you more upset about him divulging your secret?”
“He didn’t.”
I stalk toward her as she backs up and then darts behind the table to keep a physical barrier between us.
“It was all bullshit what he said. Yeah, I talked to him about you because I wanted to be with you like we were this weekend. I threw him out, Iz—”
“Don’t call me that.”
I stop mid-sentence, swallowing the lump in my throat. Her wall is sky fucking high between us. I don’t know how to break it down.
“Rossi,” I correct myself, waiting for a reaction, and the name seems to be neutral territory. “What he said was disgusting. I don’t blame you for being angry. But you have to know that’s not how I feel. I’ve never seen you like that. Never.”
“And yet you told him about us. About me. About something that was supposed to be private.”
Her shoulders sag a little, but she doesn’t let go of her anger entirely.
“I know.”
I shove my hands in my pants, needing something to do with them.
“I know I messed up. I was stupid and reckless. I was excited about you and said more than I should have. I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t. You didn’t think about what it would mean for me. For my career. What if he tells? He still could. I could lose everything. You didn’t think about the consequences because there are none for you. You get to walk away from this without a scratch, but I’m the one destroyed.”
Her words are a punch to my gut. She’s right. I didn’t think. I didn’t consider the position I’d put her in, how much harder I’d made things for her just by opening my mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
My voice breaks. For the first time, I wonder if I can talk my way out of this. Like I usually do in other situations. None is as bad as this.
“I’m so fucking sorry. You’re right. I didn’t think about how it would affect you, and I hate myself for it. But I swear to you, I never meant to hurt you. I care about you.”
Her lips tremble.
I think I see her resolve weaken. But then she shakes her head, her hand rolling into a fist over her napkin.
“Caring isn’t enough, Diego,” she says with a sadness that stabs my chest. “Trust is everything. And you broke mine.”
“I know. I’m trying to make this right.”
Trust is so fucking important to her.
It drives me mad.
I know the importance of it, but damn, this is a misunderstanding. Not a violation of her trust.
“I never should have gotten involved with a student. What was I thinking?”
Another stab to my chest, the tip piercing my heart despite having whispered it more to herself than me. This is what she’s battling with most and raking herself over the coals for something that’s not her fault, at least not entirely.
I don’t give a damn about her table barrier when I round it, giving her no place to go but into my arms. She doesn’t fight me, letting me hold her as she cries, and it’s ripping my fucking guts out.
“I’m not just a student. What we have was real. Is real. That’s what you were thinking. That’s what we were both thinking.”
My arms tighten around her body as it sags against my chest. The scent of her perfume rises into my nostrils, bathing me in flashes of yesterday spent in my bed, laughing and loving.
It pains me now, being so close one minute and so far another.
I kiss the crown of her head. She stirs slightly but doesn’t step out of my arms.
“It was real,” she concedes, the words muffled against my shirt when her hands lightly touch my sides. Not quite a hug, but not pulling away. I’ll take anything I can get from her right now. “But that doesn’t mean it was right.”
A third stab at me, but I’m unwilling to give up this easily, not with her.
“It is right, Izzy. You can’t tell me what we had isn’t worth fighting for. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same. If you just give me a chance, I’ll prove you can trust me again. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll spend the rest of the semester making this up to you.”
She doesn’t answer right away, but her body stiffens. When she pulls back to look at me, I see the same longing and pain that’s been eating me alive since last night.
“The rest of the semester? Until you get your grade?”
Her hands fall away from my body, and she takes a few steps back, putting that fucking space between us again.
“No, fuck my grade. I don’t care about your class, Rossi. You know what I mean.”
I’m hanging on by a thread. Mentioning the end of the semester triggers her distrust, but it’s not related to my grades or passing to graduate. It’s about our freedom to go out, be seen, and do things without hiding or worrying.
“Let’s get to the end of the semester. We just have to hide until then. Afterward, when I graduate, and we’re a couple, it won’t matter who sees us. Please.”
I step closer, wanting her back in my arms, where I feel an ounce of hope that we can work through this.
“Don’t shut me out. Don’t throw away what we have. I know I messed up, but what we had was real. It’s worth fighting for, worth hiding until you’re ready. Until you decide when people should know.”
The tension is so heavy that I sound panicked, trying to salvage something I want, but she possibly doesn’t.
“I can’t do this.”
Her voice cracks. Her arms wrap around her in that fucking defense stance I hate.
“I can’t risk everything I’ve worked for. I can’t risk my job and career. This was a wake-up call.”
“Please don’t do this.”
My hands roll into fists, shaking with fear that this is truly over.
“Don’t push me away. It’s not risking your career if we stay a secret, but it is risking your heart. Is that what scares you? Izzy?”
The silence stretches between us, suffocating and dying. She dabs her eyes, runs a hand over her clothes, and straightens her shoulders. She’s transforming back into that cold, distant professor who keeps everyone at arm’s length. The version of her that’s untouchable, unreadable, impenetrable.
I lost the battle today.
As all good soldiers do, I retreat.
“I’ll go.”
I wave my proverbial white flag, surrendering to her for now.
“If that’s what you want, I’ll leave. But just know that I’ll never stop trying to make this right. I’ll never stop wanting you.”
She doesn’t say a word, letting my words bounce off the wall she’s built between us. I back away slowly. My heart shatters with every step. When I reach the door, I pause, my hand on the handle.
“I care for you, Izzy,” I say softly, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “And we are real. Real to me. I wish we were to you.”
I’m not brave enough to hear her reply.
I can’t.
My own damn eyes are filling with tears that I’m too ashamed for her to see. I leave the faculty lounge, the door clicking shut behind me. I walk away, the weight of everything I’ve lost crushing me. I feel utterly lost and completely alone for the first time in years.
Kokami.