A Fictional Love Story

Lia: Fractures and Breakthroughs

The night air felt crisp as I stepped out of the bookstore, the familiar hum of the city surrounding me. Red was already waiting by the entrance, his usual nonchalance in place, leaning against the doorframe. His jacket was slightly open, exposing a simple dark shirt underneath, and his eyes, as always, were hard to read. We didn't have to speak much anymore—there was a strange rhythm between us, an unspoken understanding that had settled over the past few weeks.

"I'm starving," I said, breaking the quiet as I zipped up my coat. "Convenience store again?"

Red nodded, pushing off the frame. "Yeah."

We walked in silence, our steps echoing against the pavement as we made our way to the same small store we had visited before. By now, it had almost become a routine—late-night bookstore, followed by a quick meal. There was something about these quiet moments with Red that felt comforting, even though his detached presence remained.

As we entered the store, the bright lights washed over us, and we both gravitated toward the same instant noodles aisle. It was simple, familiar. I grabbed my usual cup and glanced over at Red, who was already pouring hot water into his.

"You don't get tired of this?" I asked, half-joking, trying to fill the silence between us.

He shrugged. "Not really."

Once our meals were ready, we settled at the same small table by the window, the view outside blurred by the condensation. I looked at Red, still trying to figure him out. We had spent so much time together lately—at the bookstore, in the university library, even in passing at campus. Yet, he remained an enigma, closed off, unreadable. He helped me with my thesis, gave me advice on research, but there was always a wall between us, something that kept him from truly opening up.

Tonight, though, there was a strange tension in the air. A shift that I couldn't quite place.

As I twirled the noodles around my chopsticks, I finally said it—the words that had been on my mind for weeks. "You're not like anyone I've ever met, you know that?"

Red glanced up, his expression as unreadable as ever. "What do you mean?"

I hesitated, unsure of how to explain it. "You're... different. Detached. It's like you don't care about anything. But then you do things that make me think otherwise."

He didn't respond immediately, just continued eating as if my words hadn't registered. But I knew him well enough by now to recognize the flicker of something behind his calm exterior. Finally, he spoke.

"I don't get involved in things that don't matter," he said, his tone as cool as always.

I frowned, setting my cup down. "And what does matter to you?"

There it was again—that silence, that wall. Red stared at me for a moment, then looked away, his gaze shifting to the window. "I don't know."

For the first time, it felt like he was being honest, not just giving me some cold, rehearsed response. There was a vulnerability in his words, a crack in the armor he always wore. I wanted to push further, to understand more, but I didn't want to ruin whatever moment we were having. Instead, I took a deep breath and let the conversation drift into safer waters.

"I'm halfway through my thesis now," I said, trying to change the subject. "Finally."

Red nodded, his eyes still on the window. "That's good."

I chuckled bitterly. "You'd think so. But my mom? She's still not proud. It's like nothing I do is good enough."

Red didn't say anything, but I knew he was listening. He always was, even when he seemed distant. I sighed, running a hand through my hair.