ACE [N.H]

03

What a gentleman—he didn't even bother to help with my bags. With a slight huff, I quickly grab them, the weight of the straps digging into my fingers. I throw an arm around Louis in a brief farewell, barely giving him time to respond before I rush to the door. My eyes sweep the sidewalk until they land on a familiar mop of blonde hair. There he is. I weave through the light crowd, my bags bouncing awkwardly at my sides as I catch up to him.

Niall doesn't even glance up. His head is bent low, fully absorbed in the glow of his phone screen, his pace steady and unbothered.

As we walk, I let my gaze wander. It's been a while since I've been here, and though the streets are familiar, they feel slightly different, almost foreign. The crisp, cold air bites at my skin but carries a strange sense of comfort. I pull my jacket tighter around me, the distant hum of city life buzzing in my ears. This will be my first time away from my parents for more than just a few days, and the thought fills me with equal parts excitement and anxiety. Starting university in a new city has always been my dream—one I've chased for years—but now that it's happening, the reality feels both thrilling and overwhelming.

Niall finally glances over, muttering a half-hearted apology as he slips his phone into his back pocket. "So, I take it you're moving here?" he asks, his eyes flicking to the bags I'm struggling to carry.

"Yeah," I reply, my voice soft, barely above a whisper. "Classes start in two weeks, so..." My words trail off, unsure if he's making polite conversation or genuinely curious.

Without waiting for a response, he reaches for one of my bags, his grip firm yet casual, while his other hand settles lightly on my shoulder. "Here, let me help. What are you majoring in?" he asks, his tone surprisingly genuine.

"English Literature," I answer, casting him a small smile in gratitude. "I actually wanted to major in Psychology, but my parents didn't approve."

He raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Why not?"

"They think it's too stressful," I say, glancing down at the pavement as we walk. "They wanted me to study business or architecture, but I somehow managed to convince them to let me choose English Literature instead."

"Stressful? Huh," he mutters, his voice barely audible over the sound of cars passing by. "That's a shame. Psychology's a fascinating field—it's all about understanding people, isn't it?"

I nod, my lips curling into a faint smile. "It is. But honestly, I'm just relieved I wasn't forced into one of their preferred majors." I pause for a moment, considering my next words. "I know my parents mean well—they want the best for me—but sometimes it feels like we're on opposite sides of what 'the best' actually is. I just wish they'd trust me to make my own decisions, especially about something this important."

We cross the street, the city's pulse growing louder as the distant sounds of conversations and footsteps mingle with the rush of passing cars. I glance over at Niall, who nods slightly, his expression thoughtful, as if weighing my words. For a moment, the silence between us feels heavier than the bags we're carrying, but also comforting, as if he understands more than he's letting on. 

"I'm sorry if that was too much," I say abruptly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. My chest tightens with a sudden wave of self-consciousness.

"No, no," he replies quickly, shaking his head, his eyebrows furrowed as if deep in thought. "I'm just trying to think of a response, you know?" He glances at me briefly before turning his gaze away, as if the weight of his thoughts makes eye contact difficult. "I think it's refreshing—hearing someone look at things differently. Most people are so set in one mindset, like, 'My family hates me,' and they never stop to consider that parents might care and love in their own way, even if it doesn't feel that way sometimes."

I watch him closely, marveling at how his mind works.

He hesitates for a second before adding, "I'm sorry if that sounds cheesy; I'm just trying to be as honest as I can. That's my thing in any situation—just honesty." He gestures vaguely with his hand, brushing off any potential awkwardness. "All I'm saying is, it's nice that you understand where your parents are coming from, even though you don't completely agree with the choices they've made for you."

I offer him a warm smile, nodding in silent agreement. "I'm glad you understand," I reply as I take a left turn, the familiar sight of my apartment building coming into view. "And thank you."

"For what?" he asks, confusion flickering across his face.

"For walking me home. I forgot to thank you earlier," I admit, feeling a little sheepish. I'd been so caught up in our conversation—and my own thoughts about family—that I hadn't taken the time to properly appreciate the gesture. It's not every day someone goes out of their way for a stranger, even if Louis is a mutual friend.

"Don't mention it," he says, his voice soft but sincere.

As we walk, something on the left catches my eye. My face lights up. "Is that a record store?" I nearly shout, my excitement spilling over.

Niall follows my gaze, chuckling. "Yeah," he confirms, glancing at the sign. "But it's closed right now." He checks the time on his phone before slipping it back into his pocket.

The sign, though simple, has an undeniable charm. The weathered wood is painted a deep navy blue, and elegant, hand-painted white script spells out Vinyl Haven. Below it, a smaller line of text reads, Records, Nostalgia, and Everything in Between. A few vintage records are painted along the edges, giving it a whimsical touch.

"Good thing I live close, then," I say, adjusting the strap of my bag. A small smile tugs at my lips as I imagine myself wandering through the store, fingers grazing the edges of records I could never afford growing up. Vinyls and record players have always fascinated me—a love born in childhood but kept at bay by practicality.

We reach the staircase leading up to my building. I gesture toward it, silently indicating that this is my stop. Niall follows me to the bottom of the steps, glancing around as if taking in the neighborhood.

"Thank you," I say again, this time more deliberately, meeting his gaze.

"Of course," he replies with a small smile. He lingers for a moment, his hands tucked into his pockets, as though unsure whether to stay or leave. His hesitation makes me wonder if he wants to prolong our time together—or if I just wish he would.

I shift awkwardly, feeling the need to say something. "I'm sorry for keeping you," I say, my voice faltering slightly. "Do you live nearby?"

His expression flickers with something unreadable—disappointment, maybe—before he smooths it away with practiced ease. "Yeah, it's not too far," he answers, his tone light but distant.

For a moment, I debate whether or not to say the next words. It feels late, like the moment has passed, but I decide to say it anyway, if only to avoid misunderstandings. "I should probably get going now," I begin, hesitating as I shift my bag higher on my shoulder. "I'm surprising my boyfriend."

There's a pause—a fraction of a second where the world feels too still—and then he nods, his smile tight but polite.

"Got it," he says, his voice even. "Take care, then."

"Thanks," I reply, my voice soft as I ascend the stairs. As I reach the door, I glance back, catching him walking away, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Something about the moment lingers, bittersweet and fleeting, like a melody I can't quite place.