Lovestuck

Chapter 34 Seven Months Later

Seven Months Later

The gym had been transformed. Not magically—at least, not in the usual sense.

Paper lanterns floated above ivy-choked beams. Flickering golden fairy lights tangled through a trellis archway. The walls

had disappeared behind gauzy curtains and fake hedges.

An attempt at elegance. Of fairy-tale enchantment.

Close enough, at least.

Riya stood near the edge of the dance floor, hands clasping a clipboard, watching couples sway to a slow Coldplay song.

After some convincing, she’d decided to wear the baby-blue dress that her sisters had gotten her (“It’s giving Cinderella!” Nyra had crowed).

Seven months had passed since the Talent Show. According to Mr. Kho, the hospital had discharged Kian a few days later—but

not before giving him a doctor’s note so they could reschedule his Berklee audition and perform remotely. No signs of a concussion.

Nothing abnormal on the MRI. He was lucid, alert, responsive, if a little prickly. Apparently, he’d swatted at the nurse who’d

tried to take his temperature, muttering something about personal space.

But when Riya called to ask if she could visit, Mr. Kho had passed along the message. And Kian had only blinked in confusion.

“Riya?” he’d repeated, sitting up in bed. “Wait . . . do you mean that girl from middle school?”

That’s when Mr. Kho began to worry.

It didn’t make sense. Kian seemed perfectly healthy. His memories of school, his father, were all intact. The remote audition

had gone smoothly, too.

But all his memories of Riya—for the past month—had blurred. Like they’d been smudged out.

“Maybe it’s stress,” Mr. Kho had said gently over the phone. “Maybe he just needs time.”

Riya had said nothing. Because to her, it made perfect sense. The curse had been broken. And with it, Kian’s memories of the

one who’d cast it.

So she kept her distance. Maybe Mr. Kho was right—maybe Kian just needed time. And she wouldn’t risk unraveling what little

healing he’d managed.

Even so, she missed him.

She had so much to tell him. How she’d decided not to go to Caltech. How she’d enrolled at Penn State instead—a solid astrophysics program, but more

important, closer to home, to family, to Mel. And how she’d also started training under Sirah khala again, who was thrilled

to finally have a willing protégé.

The music shifted. Her gaze drifted across the crowd. Bright smiles, careless laughter. For a moment she remembered Kian’s smile at the Talent Show, and the way he looked at her just before everything had unraveled.

The memory twisted in her chest, sharp and bright, before she tucked it away.

At least some people seemed happy. Across the room, Mel and Andrew spun in clumsy circles, laughing, their hands clasped tight.

Riya smiled despite herself, a quiet warmth blooming behind her ribs.

Mel caught Riya staring and grinned.

Dance with me later? Mel mouthed.

Maybe, Riya mouthed back.

“At least go enjoy yourself at your own Senior Prom,” said a familiar voice.

Quin appeared beside her, smirking as they took the clipboard from Riya’s hands and placed it on a nearby drink table. They

were dressed in an emerald velvet tux embroidered with flowers—subtle, yet unmistakably them.

“Shouldn’t you be entertaining your fan club?” Riya said drily, nodding toward a group of other seniors openly watching Quin

from across the room.

Quin waved a hand. “Later, later. I’ve got time.”

They stood there together in comfortable silence, president and vice president, watching the room pulse with light and music.

“So,” Quin said finally, “another victory for Student Council, huh?”

“Our last one,” Riya replied.

Quin arched a brow. “Oh? Do I detect some wistfulness? Dare I say melancholy?”

“Don’t get carried away.”

“Oof, that’s a big ask.” Quin grinned. “Still. For our final event, you really went out with a bang. We all did. But you especially.”

They shook their head as Riya opened her mouth. “No, none of that. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

A small smile tugged at Riya’s lips. This time, she didn’t argue.

Quin cleared their throat.

“I know we’re all going our separate ways soon,” they said, their voice softer now, almost drowned by the music. “But you

had better keep in touch.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Absolutely. If you don’t, I’ll hunt you down at Penn State. Then all your professors will fall madly in love with me and

insist that I take your place. And then where will you be?”

Riya laughed. “Fine, fine. Have it your way.”

“Good.” Quin smiled, then looked out at the dancers. “After all, it’s not every day I meet another of the Folk.”

Riya blinked. “Sorry, what—?”

But Quin was already re-entering the crowd of dancers, throwing one last grin over their shoulder.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw him.

Kian stood near the edge of the dance floor, shifting awkwardly under the tangle of fairy lights.

She took him in: the familiar cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth.

His hair was darker now—black, cut shorter—and his black tux, hanging a little loose on his frame, was speckled with white cat hair. Oppy’s, no doubt.

But it was him.

It was him.

Her heart clenched so hard it hurt.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, scanning the room like he was searching for something—or someone. His shoulders tensed.

His mouth pressed into a nervous line as other students glanced his way, curious.

Riya’s fingers dug into her palms, a hundred instincts warring inside her: Go to him, hide, pretend she hadn’t seen, run.

Seven months had passed—agonizingly slowly. Seven months of silence and wondering.

And now—

Their eyes met across the dance floor. For a moment, neither of them moved.

Slowly, he made his way toward her, weaving through the crowd.

And Riya stayed rooted, heart hammering against her ribs. Bracing.

Because what if he still didn’t remember? What if everything they’d fought for had forever slipped away, despite all their

efforts?

He stopped a few feet away—close enough to speak. Far enough to leave, if he had to.

“Hey,” he said, voice rougher, more uncertain than she remembered. “. . . Riya.”

The sound of her name in his mouth nearly undid her.

“That’s me. Can I help you?”

She’d spent months imagining this moment—what she’d say, what he’d say.

Was he still writing music? Did he get into Berklee?

Was he happy?

Kian’s gaze flicked across the ballroom, the ivy, the fairy lights, the dancing couples.

“Can I—can I ask you something?” he said, his voice dropping slightly.

“Sure,” she said, wary.

“I’m Kian. Kian Kho?” He paused, like he wasn’t sure what came next. “Wait, that’s not really a question. But, I don’t know

if—the thing is, I’ve been out of school for a while. It’s . . . complicated.”

“. . . I know who you are,” she replied, keeping her expression neutral. “Besides, I remember your performance. From the Talent

Show.”

“Oh. Right.” He frowned faintly. “The Talent Show. A lot of details that night are hazy. Feels like it happened to someone

else.”

Riya’s hands clenched at her sides. So that was it. He didn’t remember. Of course he didn’t. She knew—

But then Kian took a tentative step closer.

“Anyway, would you . . . maybe want to dance?” he asked quietly.

Riya blinked.

“I mean, you don’t have to,” he added quickly, a flush creeping up his neck. “It’s, whatever. I just figured—Prom, you know?”

Riya took a breath. It hurt. All of this hurt. They were strangers now.

And yet—the way he looked at her—hopeful, tentative—stirred something reckless and aching inside her.

“. . . Okay,” she said finally.

They stepped on to the dance floor just as a new song began—The Marías. One of the tracks from the album he’d once given her.

She glanced up, startled. Coincidence. It had to be. Even if it did feel like a sign. A thread.

It took them a moment, but they found a rhythm. Moving in step, almost in sync. Almost like they’d done this before.

“You smell like jasmine,” Kian muttered.

Riya tripped over her own feet. “What?”

Kian held her steady. “Nothing. Sorry. That was weird.”

But it isn’t weird, she wanted to say. Not to her. But maybe saying that would be weird, too. Was that what love was? Two weirdos, finding each

other, and making even weirder moments together?

They drifted for a while, the music carrying them. And for a moment, she could almost pretend she was fine. That she wasn’t

mourning him while dancing in his arms.

Then he spoke again: “I had a pretty big crush on you. Since middle school, actually.”

Riya’s heart stumbled.

“A crush?” she asked lightly. “But not anymore?”

Kian’s gaze searched her. “I think I still do.”

Riya swallowed, throat squeezing. “Is this your way of teasing me?”

“No,” he said. “It’s just—it’s strange. Lately, I’ve been having these dreams. Really vivid, almost like—”

“Like memories?” Riya breathed.

Kian nodded slowly. “Yeah. Exactly. And the weirdest part is, they’re all about you.”

Her breath caught.

But Kian’s smile stayed, quiet and certain.

“Sometimes, it’s a song, like this one—or I’ll walk through the hallway at school, and something just . . . tugs,” he went

on. “Like I’m . . . forgetting something important. Or someone.” He looked away. “I know it doesn’t make any sense.”

The curse was broken. Riya knew it was. And she’d known there would be a cost.

But somehow—

It felt like some part of him was still holding on.

“What are these dreams like?” she asked.

“Oh, I barely remember,” he admitted. “I think in one of them you threw a dodgeball at my head? Maybe I deserved it. I don’t

know.”

Riya suppressed a laugh. “Maybe.”

“The point is,” said Kian, “I know it sounds corny as hell, but when I saw you here, it was like—everything inside me said, Go talk to her. While you still have a chance.”

“Well, we are graduating soon.”

“Where are you going?” he asked sheepishly. “After graduation, I mean.”

Riya smiled. “Penn State.”

“Oh, so not too far. I’m going to Berklee College of Music.”

“You got in?” Her eyes widened.

Kian gave her a confused look. “Yeah . . . I got lucky. They offered me a full ride.”

“That’s . . .” Riya hesitated, emotions knotting in her chest. Pride. Wonder. Loss at not being there to share that moment

with him. “That’s incredible, Kian. . . . I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” His smile was bright enough to split her open. “I’m happy we’ll be somewhat close by. I mean, not that I’m insinuating

anything. It’s just—Jesus, do I sound like a stalker? I feel like I sound like a stalker. I’m not, for the record. My dad

would literally kill me first.”

This time, Riya laughed. A full belly laugh.

“I know,” she said.

For a moment, they simply moved awkwardly together, letting the music pull them into its slow current. Riya felt the steady

thrum of his heart against hers, the warmth of his hand at her back.

Yes, she decided. She wouldn’t run away ever again.

“Would you like to go on a date?” she said.

Kian blinked, his step faltering mid-dance. “I’m sorry, what?”

“A date,” she repeated, gripping his hand a little tighter. “With me.”

For a moment, he just stared, stunned.

Then—finally—his lopsided grin broke free. Soft, and real.

“You’re serious?”

“I’m always serious.”

“Well then.” Kian’s voice dropped, rough with feeling. “Yes. Please. I’d like that. I’d really like that.”

They eased back into the rhythm of the music, movements unhurried, as if the rest of the world had faded away. The fairy lights

above cast a warm glow, their soft twinkle reflected in the dark sweep of Kian’s eyes. His hand on her back grounded her—and

for the first time in what felt like forever, Riya let herself breathe.

As the song began to wind down, Kian leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against her ear. “I’m really looking forward

to it,” he murmured.

Riya met his gaze, noticing how the lights scattered like tiny constellations across his irises—mapping something new.

“Me too,” she whispered.

The song ended, followed by a polite smattering of applause.

Yet neither of them moved, as if suspended in the soft gravity between them.

For now, at least, it was just this. Just them.

Slowly, deliberately, her fingers curled between his.