Dear Elites: A Tale of Love and Contrasts

🦋chapter 8🦋

#3rd person

"Alright, everyone, gather 'round!" Mr. Collins' voice thundered over the chatter of excited students, his hands cupped around his mouth to amplify the call after we arrived for our little trip to the mountains. The mountain air was crisp, a fresh scent mingling with the aromatic pines surrounding the resort's wooden cabins. "Due to the limited accommodations, you'll be pairing up for sleeping arrangements. Partners have already been assigned."

Amela breathed in deeply, her gaze sweeping across the alpine vista—the rolling greens and distant peaks painted with the last golden strokes of the setting sun. She felt a twinge of awe but also a flutter of unease at the prospect of sharing such intimate quarters.

"Diyan and Edris," Mr. Collins announced, checking off names on his clipboard. "You two will be bunking together."

The words hung in the quiet that followed, like a solitary cloud casting its shadow upon Amela's heart. She turned slowly, her brown locks brushing against her shoulders as she sought out Zade in the crowd. His grey eyes met hers, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.

"Share a bed?" Her voice was a whisper meant only for herself, one laden with trepidation. She could feel the heat creeping into her cheeks, the way her pulse quickened at the thought of being so close to him.

"Is there a problem, Amela?" Mr. Collins peered at her through his spectacles, his brows knitting together.

"No, sir—no problem at all," she replied, her voice steadier than she felt. Internally, she was a tempest of conflicting emotions, an intricate dance of anxiety and curiosity. With each step towards the cabin, her limbs felt heavier, burdened by the weight of the unknown.

Zade held the door open for her, his demeanor unreadable. Every cell in Amela's body was hyper-aware of his presence as she crossed the threshold. The room was cozy, with a rustic charm that did little to ease the tension coiling within her.

"Looks like we're stuck with each other," Zade said, a corner of his mouth tilting upwards in a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Stuck is one word for it," Amela muttered, trying to seem indifferent. She busied herself with unpacking, though her fingers fumbled with the zipper on her suitcase. The sound seemed disproportionately loud in the quiet room.

She could feel Zade's gaze on her, intense and unyielding, as if he were trying to decipher her very soul. It made her skin prickle, a strange mix of discomfort and a thrill that she couldn't place.

"Hey, I don't bite," Zade's voice broke through her thoughts, laced with a hint of humor that was disarming.

"You read my mind," Amela countered, finally managing to pry her suitcase open. Her heart thumped in her chest, a relentless drummer keeping time with her swirling thoughts. This trip was supposed to be an escape, a brief respite from the battles she fought back at school—but sharing a bed with Zade Edris was an unforeseen challenge, a test of her composure she hadn't anticipated.

"Goodnight then," she whispered later, the lights turned off, leaving only the moon to cast its glow upon the unfamiliar room. She lay stiffly on her side of the bed, every inch of space between them charged with an energy she dared not acknowledge.

"Goodnight, Amela," came the soft reply, a gentle intonation that somehow wrapped itself around her like a blanket, offering a sliver of comfort amidst the awkwardness.

As sleep tiptoed in, Amela clung to the edges of consciousness, wrestling with the notion that the boy who owned half of New York City and played football with the grace of a predator was just an arm's length away. And in that vulnerable space between wakefulness and dreams, she realized that this shared bed might just be the battleground where walls could crumble and unexpected alliances could be forged.