Tethered Light

Chapter 7: The Orbit

The campus felt quieter than usual as I made my way toward the journalism building, the air heavy with the promise of rain. My bag was weighed down with yesterday's photos, a mix of half-decent rehearsal shots and candid moments that didn't quite capture the chaos of the theater.

Jake had asked for them by noon, but my focus had been anywhere but the assignment. It wasn't like me to procrastinate, but lately, my thoughts kept drifting to Olivia—her voice, her presence, the way she seemed to pull everyone toward her without even trying.

I had just reached the door when my phone buzzed.

Olivia: Rehearsal's canceled today. Meet me by the studio instead.

I stared at the message, my stomach flipping. The studio wasn't part of the theater building—it was a smaller, tucked-away space used by the art department for experimental projects. I'd never been invited there before.

Me: Why?

The bubbles from her reply popped up almost immediately.

Olivia: Because I want you to.

***

The studio was a far cry from the polished halls of the theater department. The walls were scuffed, the floors covered in layers of paint splatters, and the air smelled faintly of turpentine. Olivia stood in the middle of the room, barefoot and holding a paintbrush like a conductor's baton.

"You made it," she said, flashing me that easy, knowing smile.

"What's this about?" I asked, stepping inside and letting the door close behind me.

She turned back to the canvas in front of her, a half-finished sketch of swirling lines and jagged shapes. "I needed to clear my head. Thought you might want to join me."

"I'm not much of a painter," I said, setting my bag down in the corner.

"That's the point," she said, dipping her brush into a streak of deep blue. "Sometimes it's not about being good. It's about doing it anyway."

Her words lingered in the air as she worked, the room filled with the rhythmic swish of the brush against the canvas. I stayed where I was, watching her in silence.

"Are you just going to stand there?" she asked without looking up.

"I don't know what you expect me to do."

She set the brush down and turned to face me, her eyes gleaming with a mix of challenge and amusement. "I expect you to pick up a brush and stop overthinking."

***

After an hour of us painting in almost absolute silence, Olivia stepped back, hands on her hips, looking proud of her work.

"Want to grab some food?" she asked, her tone casual, but her eyes locked on mine in a way that made it hard to say no.

I hesitated. I had an assignment due for journalism and a backlog of photos to sort through, but the idea of sitting across from her, of being the center of her attention even for an hour, was tempting.

"Sure," I said.

She smiled, and the weight of my other responsibilities melted away.

***

The diner was a small, unremarkable place a few blocks from campus. Olivia slid into the booth across from me, immediately picking up the menu like she'd been here a hundred times.

"You come here often?" I asked, glancing around at the faded wallpaper and cracked vinyl seats.

"All the time," she said, not looking up. "It's cheap, and no one bothers me here."

The waitress came by, and Olivia ordered without hesitation. I followed her lead, picking something off the menu at random.

"So," she said once the waitress left, leaning her elbows on the table. "Ever thought about what you're going to do with all this talent of yours after college?"

I blinked. "My talent?"

"Yeah. You're quiet, you keep to yourself, but you've got this... intense talent, and it shows in your work."

I shrugged, uncomfortable under her gaze. "There's not much to think, I guess..."

"Come on," she said, her smile teasing but her eyes sharp. "You're so humble it's cute."

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. "What about you?" I countered, deflecting. "You never told me your story."

Her expression softened, and for a moment, she seemed almost vulnerable. "Not much to tell," she said, echoing my words. "I grew up in the middle of nowhere, came here to study, and found my thing."

"And now you're the star of the show," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

She laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. "Hardly. But I'm good at what I do. I know that much."

The conversation drifted after that, becoming easier, lighter. She asked about my photography, my classes, and what brought me to this school. I found myself opening up more than I expected, her questions pulling answers out of me like threads unraveling.

By the time our food arrived, it felt like I'd known her longer than just a few weeks.

***

When we left the diner, the sun had dipped below the horizon, the sky painted in shades of orange and purple. Olivia walked beside me, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket.

"Thanks for coming," she said, her voice quieter now.

"Thanks for inviting me," I said, surprising myself with the sincerity in my tone.

She stopped walking and turned to face me, her expression unreadable. "I like you, Heather."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with something unspoken.

"I—" I started, but she stepped closer, cutting me off.

"You're not like the others," she said, her voice soft. "You don't want anything from me."

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, her hand brushed against mine. It was a small, fleeting touch, but it sent a jolt through me.

I didn't pull away.

She smiled, a small, almost shy curve of her lips that felt completely at odds with the commanding presence she usually exuded. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I murmured, my voice barely audible, as if her presence had drawn all the oxygen from my lungs, leaving me struggling to breathe.

She lingered for a moment longer before turning and walking away, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding in my chest.