Scott had never believed in love at first sight. It seemed to him a ridiculous concept, a fantasy woven by dreamy poets to disguise what was nothing more than simple attraction. But on the first day of university, his universe, so ordered and predictable, prepared for a total rewrite.
The classroom was full of unknown faces, the air vibrated with the murmur of new voices and timid laughter, promising the energy of a first week of classes. Scott, with his back resting against his chair and his eyes fixed on the professor, tried to concentrate on the beginning of his new academic life, a familiar and safe ground. It was then that he saw her enter.
An instant. A slow, deep blink, and Scott's world, until then a clear map organized by the laws of physics and logic, shattered like a glass falling. His breath stopped, a tight knot in his throat, and reality seemed to erase itself around him. The contours of the classroom, the faces of his classmates, even the authoritative voice of the professor, became a distant echo. Suddenly, nothing existed save her, the figure who had just crossed the door and, unknowingly, had drawn a new path on the blackboard of his heart.
Emily didn't enter; she simply appeared and the air changed, as when the sun breaks through the clouds. She was not a noisy force, but a silent current that effortlessly swept everything in its path. She walked with the natural grace of one who knows that all eyes follow her, without asking for them, without seeking them. She seemed to exist in a world apart, a place where common people could only look at her from afar, like one who observes the moon in the night sky without daring to touch its light. She was the promise of a brilliance so intense that, from the first breath, Scott knew it would leave him blind.
Her blonde hair fell in soft waves, like cascades of gold, framing a face where calm mixed with something difficult to decipher. But it was her eyes, a deep and penetrating green like the sea, that instantly captivated him: they analyzed the classroom with surprising certainty, as if she already knew all the secrets of that place.
And then there was her smile. It wasn't the easy smile given to please or to fit into a group. It was the smile of one who understood her own power, her own attractiveness, and wielded it with the precision of an expert surgeon. A dominion over others that Scott, in his innocence and lack of experience, would confuse with the purest authenticity.
Scott felt his breathing become erratic, like an engine failing without warning. His mind, accustomed to formulas, desperately tried to find an explanation for what he had just experienced, but his body had another response: his heart pounding in his chest like a frantic drum, his hands trembling, heat rising up the back of his neck. Only when he felt a sharp elbow in his ribs, a rough anchor that brought him back to reality, did the world around him begin to move again.
"Stop staring at her like an abandoned puppy," Charlie murmured, his voice laden with the familiar mocking smile.
Scott blinked, disoriented, and immediately averted his gaze, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks. But it was already too late. Something inside him had changed, irreversibly. From that day on, he saw her everywhere. In the hallways, in the cafeteria, in the library. And every time their paths crossed, he felt the air thicken, time slow down. It was a longing that grew with each encounter, a desire that became greater.
Emily smiled kindly at him, a fleeting and empty gesture, and offered polite greetings that dissolved into the air like smoke. In her voice there was no interest, not even a small sign of the connection Scott longed for.
Even so, Scott became a builder of solitary dreams. He turned a fleeting glance into an eternal promise, a casual greeting into the beginning of a story that only existed on the canvas of his own mind. He lived from the echoes of his longing; from seconds he stole from reality to paint them with the colors of his desire. In his imagination, he was ingenious, charming, the only one capable of drawing a sincere laugh from her.
But reality was another, a cold mirror that returned the image of just another boy, one among the crowd. And, nevertheless, he couldn't stop imagining. Because, sometimes, even if one knows there's no opportunity, the heart, that stubborn and blind organ, insists on clinging to an illusion like a last plank in the storm, even when it knows that the truth, however harsh, would end up drowning it in its depths.
──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•
One day, when the sunset stained the library with golden tones, Scott saw her. The light filtered through the large windows, giving the place the air of a temple of knowledge. Emily was sitting at one of the back tables, her head bent over a thick leather-bound book, her fingers holding a pen with the delicacy of one who has learned to write with patience. She looked like a painting bathed in sunlight, an almost unreal vision.
"Emily…" Scott whispered, the word escaped his lips before his mind could stop it. The sound echoed in the silence of his own head, a forbidden melody.
His heart pounded with the runaway force of a trapped bird. It was his opportunity, the crack in the wall he had so desired. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of nerves in his stomach, and advanced. Every step was a leap into the void.
"Are you busy or can I bother you for a moment?" he asked, striving to sound confident. But even he noticed the slight tremor in his voice, a crack that betrayed the erupting volcano inside him.
Emily slowly looked up. Her green eyes rested on him with a deep calm. Scott felt a shiver run down his back. He didn't know if in her gaze there was genuine curiosity or simple empty courtesy, but the weight of her attention made him feel vulnerable, as if all his secrets were in plain sight.
She tilted her head slightly and let the silence float between them, extending just enough to make him doubt every fiber of his existence. It was a test, and he felt on the verge of shame.
"That depends," she finally said, in a soft voice and an enigmatic twinkle in her gaze that played with the golden light. "Will the bother be worth it?"
Scott felt his mind go blank, an empty canvas where the ingenious answers he had rehearsed night after night simply evaporated. He swallowed, striving to hold her gaze without looking like a complete novice.
"I hope so," he finally said, with an erratic smile.
Emily didn't respond immediately. She observed him with the same calculated intensity of someone who analyzes every detail of a complex equation before deciding if it's worth proceeding. Scott felt uncertainty tangle in his chest. Then, with a slow and deliberate gesture, Emily closed the book and laid the pen on the table with a soft click, the sound cutting the silence.
"Good," she murmured, with a small spark of amusement in her eyes that Scott, in his innocence, couldn't decipher. "Surprise me."
Scott cleared his throat, feeling adrenaline rush through his body. He knew that his opportunity, the one he had desired so much, hung by a fragile, thin thread. So, without thinking too much, he began to speak. He told her about his passion: science and mechanics, the hidden universe behind every gear and every formula. He explained how every piece of technology, no matter how complex it seemed, responded to fundamental principles, how the precision of an engine or the beauty of quantum theory seemed almost poetry in motion to him.
As he spoke, his nervousness vanished, replaced by the overflowing current of his enthusiasm. His voice gained firmness, his hands moved with energy, drawing in the air the ideas that boiled in his head. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't calculating every word. He simply shared what he loved, with the purity of a child showing his most prized toy, without fear of judgment.
Emily listened in silence, without looking away. Her expression was impenetrable, a perfect mask that let nothing show, which made insecurity hit him again like a cold wave. Was he boring her with his passions? Was he, once again, talking too much about what no one else cared about? But when he finished, she rested her chin in her hand and gave him a smile that churned his stomach in a new, promising, and at the same time unsettling way.
"Wow, I didn't expect you to be so passionate about the subject," she said, elegantly intertwining her fingers, as if each movement were an act of carefully practiced art. "It's interesting. How about we continue this conversation tomorrow? We could review together for the project."
Scott felt the air leave his lungs. His mind screamed with euphoria while his heart did somersaults inside his chest. He tried to maintain his composure, to hide the emotion that exploded within him.
"That sounds like a great idea. Your help would come in handy," he replied, striving to sound casual.
But inside, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, of future conversations, of shared laughter, of a universe of possibilities that had just opened up before him. That night he could barely sleep. He went over every detail of the conversation in his head, every word from Emily. He imagined what the next day's encounter would be like, what he would say, how he would win her over and try to make her laugh. The hours passed slowly and cruelly, each minute an eternity, until, finally, the light of dawn filtered through his window, a new day laden with promises.
When he arrived at the library the next day, he already had everything ready: his notes organized, a mental list of topics they could discuss, and even some rehearsed phrases to seem relaxed. But Emily wasn't there. He looked at his watch again and again. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. Doubt, a subtle snake, began to slither through his mind, biting at his illusion. Had something happened to her? Had she forgotten?
When she finally appeared, she did so with a lazy smile, as if time held no importance. She dropped into the chair opposite him and crossed her legs with the same charming indifference as always.
"Where do we start?" she asked, with no intention of apologizing for the wait she had imposed.
Scott swallowed. A strange mix of frustration and fascination flooded him. It was a contrast that confused him, but which, strangely, attracted him even more. And so, between the golden light of the library and the subtle mystery of Emily, their story began. A story that he, naively, already believed was written by destiny.
──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•
The following days were a whirlwind of emotions for Scott, a symphony of discoveries that elevated him beyond what he believed possible. Every moment with Emily was a jolt that made him wonder how he could have existed before knowing her. The future, previously a linear and clear path, opened into an exciting labyrinth where Emily was the center, the only point of reference.
But Scott, blinded by the splendor of his fascination, by the dazzling light of his own idealization, did not see—or perhaps refused to see with all his might—the shadows that formed, subtle and almost invisible, over their story. He was too immersed in the bubble of happiness he had built for himself, a fragile refuge.
On the other hand, Emily managed time like someone moving a puppet's strings. She made him wait without prior notice, leaving him alone, with cold hands on the table and a forgotten coffee that cooled along with his thoughts. Her loyal and enamored mind wove excuses with the speed of lightning, spun impossible justifications, words she repeated over and over to calm her own heart: "Surely something came up unexpectedly," "Maybe she's busy, she's so popular and has so many friends." But those words became an endless list of self-deceptions that he repeated every time she arrived late, smiling as if nothing had happened, and Scott, unable to question her, returned a forced smile that hid his anguish.
Sometimes, when Scott spoke with enthusiasm about his passions, Emily sighed with barely disguised impatience, a small huff that Scott, in his blindness, interpreted as tiredness. She averted her gaze to her phone, with restless fingers scrolling the screen, seeking a more interesting refuge, a distraction. Her attention was a scarce and valuable commodity, which she only gave when it suited her, when the brilliance of his intellect made her feel important or when she needed something from him. However, when she needed something—a favor, a difficult task, unconditional comfort in her moments of sadness or boredom—her smile acquired a special radiance, an irresistible glow that trapped Scott in a net from which he could not and did not want to escape, a net woven with threads of false sweetness.
For Scott, on the other hand, every word from Emily was celestial music, every laugh a triumph, every glance a universe that revolved around him. He did not see that, behind her perfection, a cold, calculating soul was hidden, one that measured every gesture with the precision of a chess player, always one step ahead.
With each encounter, his love grew like a voracious flame, fed by every small crumb of attention Emily offered him. The need to confess it became an unbearable weight, a pressure in his chest that propelled him toward that decisive moment of laying all his cards on the table. And finally, one night in the library, the moment presented itself to him, as if it had been written in destiny, etched in the stars just for them.
The place was almost empty, plunged into a silence that made him aware of every one of his heartbeats. The faint light of the lamp cast soft shadows on Emily's face, giving her an unreal air, as if she belonged to a dream from which he did not want, nor could, wake up. The perfect moment to confess his love.
He took a deep breath.
It was the moment.
There was no turning back.
His throat closed and he had to swallow to release the words trapped in his mind. He had rehearsed them over and over, a thousand times in the solitude of his room, but at that precise instant, in front of her, her simple presence made the ground beneath his feet seem less stable, the air grow denser. His body trembled under the weight of his own truth; the fear of the answer as great as the love he felt.
"Emily…" his voice was barely a whisper. "I don't know when it happened, but you have become the reason why every day feels different from the last. As if before you, everything had been a colorless draft, an empty life. And now, every time I look at you, everything makes sense. I love you… more than I could explain with words. It's not just an attraction, it's something deeper that consumes me all the time."
At that moment, time seemed to stop at the crucial instant. A tense silence stretched between them like a rope about to break, each second an eternity that to Scott seemed to last a lifetime.
She slowly looked up from her phone, almost theatrically. Her eyelashes vibrated slightly and, for an instant, Scott feared he had said something wrong, had broken something fragile and invisible between them that he could not repair.
But then he saw it. A warm glow appeared in her eyes, a spark that Scott, completely hopeful, interpreted as love, as the confirmation of all his dreams. And then… that smile. Sweet. Serene. A smile that, for a brief instant, even to herself seemed genuine, a promise that perhaps, just perhaps, she could fulfill.
"I love you too, Scott" she whispered, leaning slightly towards him with a voice that healed all his insecurities, that erased all his doubts.
The air escaped his lungs in a choked sigh. Something inside him overflowed like a river breaking its dikes. His whole world lit up with her response, with the sweetness of her voice, with the closeness of her body, with the certainty that finally, he belonged to someone, that he was reciprocated, that his love was real.
But Scott was unable to see—or perhaps refused to see with the blindness of love—the spark of amusement in her eyes. He did not distinguish the fleeting glint of satisfaction, the shine of one who has just acquired a new toy… one with which she would play until it ceased to entertain her. His heart, dazzled, refused to accept it, it could not.
──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•
The following months were a sweet dream, a dream from which Scott never wanted to wake up. They walked through the campus hand in hand, enveloped in the warmth of a bubble that seemed immune to the passage of time. Conversations flowed like endless rivers, sometimes deep, exploring the corners of their minds and souls; other times absurd, filled with that feeling that, for the first time in his life, allowed him to be himself. And Emily, for her part, let herself be carried away by the current. Scott's unconditional affection was a constant reflection of her own worth, an ego boost. His intellect made her feel important, the presence of the "genius boy" by her side was a social validation that elevated her among the rest. There were days when, looking into his eyes, an almost sincere pang told her that this was what she was supposed to feel. A strange curiosity for that pure and unconditional love he offered her, an attempt, perhaps, to experience it herself, to be who he believed she was. But the promise of that "almost" was an abyss she didn't know how to cross, an emotion she couldn't sustain beyond the instant, a lie that weighed heavily on her.
But the changes arrived, at first subtle, almost invisible, like a crack barely noticeable in a mirror that only time would fully reveal. Emily's answers grew shorter, her laughs less spontaneous, sometimes forced, as if requiring genuine effort. Her eyes began to stray in the middle of a conversation, caught by the glow of her phone screen, an irresistible attraction that felt stronger than his own presence. Scott tried to ignore it, telling himself that Emily was like that, that it was nothing personal, that she still loved him. But the silences that were once filled with tender complicities turned uncomfortable, like an abyss that grew, invisible but real, between them.
The hardest blow came one ordinary afternoon, in their usual corner of the library, the same place where the seed of their love had been sown. Emily was sitting across from him, her brow slightly furrowed, sliding her fingers across her phone, a concentration Scott remembered seeing only when it concerned him. And then he saw it. The way her face lit up, the sparkle in her eyes, the smile that formed on her lips… It was the same expression and the same radiance she used to have when she looked at him, when she told him she loved him, promising him a future.
Something in his chest shattered. A silent sound that only he could hear, the cracking of his heart opening into an invisible and deep wound.
From that day on, Emily began to fade, not entirely, but in essence, in what she was to him. Her messages took longer to arrive, sometimes days, and were often empty, emotionless replies. She disappeared for hours without warning, without an explanation. When he asked her, she simply laughed and ran a hand across his cheek with a carefree gesture, as if that simple touch could erase his doubts and all the truth he already intuited.
"You're so sweet when you worry about me," she whispered with a sweetness that still disarmed him, a sweetness that now felt false.
And Scott, with the storm growing inside him, with the voice of reason trying to scream the truth at him, smiled and accepted her evasive answers. Because questioning her too much meant risking losing her, and the fear of loneliness was even greater than the wound that grew in his soul. He deceived himself for the brief comfort of still having her near, even if that closeness was a lie.
But destiny had an even deeper wound prepared for him.
One afternoon, upon entering the campus cafeteria, his gaze instinctively sought her out. And he found her.
Sitting with another boy.
The tilt of her head towards him, the open, unreserved laughter that flowed from her lips, the sparkle in her eyes… Everything was a reflection of what used to be his.
Time seemed to slow down when their gazes crossed. He waited—longed—to see a silent apology in her expression. But Emily didn't look away. There was no hesitation or shadows of remorse. Only a casual, almost indifferent smile, as if their encounter meant nothing.
Later, when she sought him out, with the same naturalness as always, as if nothing had happened, she wrapped her arms around his neck and looked at him with those eyes that still disarmed him, an easy toy to manipulate.
"I'm still by your side, darling, remember that," she whispered, with the same sweetness as always.
He should have spoken, confronted the pain that consumed him. Demanded answers. But the words drowned in his throat, suffocated by the fear of hearing what he already suspected.
So he clung to hope, to the possibility that, somehow, Emily still wanted him. He deceived himself for the brief comfort of still having her near, even if that closeness was a lie that slowly gnawed at him, day after day, night after night.
──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•
Night enveloped the city, filtering through the windows of the small cafeteria where Emily and Scott shared another of those moments that, lately, felt increasingly distant. But he no longer looked at his coffee.
His eyes were fixed on her.
And on her smile.
It wasn't the casual smile she usually gave him. No, this was different. More radiant. More sincere. And worst of all: it wasn't for him.
Her phone screen glowed with each new notification, and with each flash, Emily seemed to light up a little more. A heavy knot formed in Scott's stomach, pressing down on him. The suspicion, the one he had tried to quiet for weeks, awoke with relentless intensity.
"Who is it?" he asked, with a calm so fragile it barely stood.
Emily barely looked up from her phone. Her expression changed, but only a little, just enough for Scott to notice. There was no surprise. No guilt. Only the coldness of a rehearsed lie. Or perhaps, an ephemeral spark of internal conflict, a quick struggle, immediately stifled by the need to protect herself, not to feel what she didn't know how to handle, or how to explain.
"No one. Just a friend."
A chill ran down his back.
A lie. He knew it.
He had seen it in the silences that weighed more than any word, in the laughs that no longer belonged to him, in the excuses that fell effortlessly. But, above all, he had seen it in her eyes. The same eyes that, long ago, looked at him that way, with that light that had now been extinguished forever, replaced by an immense darkness.
"Emily…" His voice broke slightly, a contained plea that barely came out, a last request. "Don't lie to me."
She sighed. Not with guilt, nor with true sadness. But with impatience. She was tired of the truth he demanded, the same truth that she had not known how to give to her own heart, nor to herself.
"It's nothing…" she repeated, but her tone was one of exhaustion, of wanting to end the farce, the lie that united them, the relationship that was no longer.
A dull thump interrupted the murmur of the cafeteria when Scott suddenly stood up, causing his coffee cup to wobble dangerously on the saucer. His gaze, full of disbelief and contained rage, fixed on her.
"Yes, it is something!" he exclaimed, feeling his chest constrict, suffocating. "I see it in your face, Emily. It's the same expression you had when you started to love me... But now you're giving it to someone else."
For the first time in months, she seemed to hesitate.
"I'll tell you the truth, Scott."
Outside, the city lights flickered indifferently, oblivious to what was about to happen. He already knew what was coming, but his heart, stubborn and wounded, still clung to a spark of hope.
"I met someone else," she whispered bluntly. "I didn't want to hurt you, but… I don't feel the same anymore."
Her words were a direct hit, mercilessly sinking into his chest. Suddenly, the cafeteria, which had once been his refuge, felt cold and alien. The aroma of coffee, which used to envelop them in warmth, now became unbearable. The voices and laughter around him sounded like a distant echo, a cruel soundtrack to his ruin.
Scott swallowed dryly.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why did you keep me here by your side? Why did you make me waste my time?"
Emily lowered her gaze, avoiding his eyes. Her eyes glittered with tears of frustration, of not being able to maintain the facade. She cried for the situation, for herself, for the weight of the lie, not for him, not for the pain she was causing him.
But he knew the truth. He had known it for some time.
"I was scared… I didn't want to hurt you."
Scott let out a bitter, dry laugh, a sound that resonated like the cruelest mockery.
"Scared? No, Emily. You weren't scared. You knew what you were doing. You kept me here waiting, as your safe option, as your plan B. You used me to feel important, to fill your voids, to have someone by your side while you looked for something else, something better. And when you found it, you discarded me. Like an old toy, a useless tool."
She did not deny it. And in her silence, he found the final confirmation.
Scott felt a void open in his chest. A dark abyss that threatened to devour everything, to swallow his very existence, his identity.
"You made me believe I still had a chance... when in reality I lost it long ago. When I never had it. Everything was a lie."
Emily sighed and picked up her bag. She stood up, and he watched her walk away, her silhouette outlined by the dim light of the place.
"If you said you loved me…, why are you leaving and leaving me with my heart in my hands?" he murmured, his voice a broken lament, a last question to the air, but Emily was already too far away to hear him, or perhaps, too far away to care, to feel anything.
He stayed there, watching Emily walk away without looking back, taking with her every promise, every smile, every hope of a future together. The door closed behind her with a final echo, a sound that sealed the end of his first love. He slumped into the chair, as if his legs could no longer support him, as if all the strength had abandoned his body, leaving him empty. He looked at his cold coffee, his distorted reflection in the dark liquid, a face unrecognizable from the pain and betrayal that had invaded him.
That night, for the first time, he allowed himself to cry. The tears, hot and bitter, poured out without containment, a deluge that washed away the last drop of hope. It was a pain that consumed him from within.
And in the solitude of his own echo, Scott understood the cruelest truth of all:
Sometimes, love doesn't fade.
Sometimes, it simply was never real.