Chapter 18: Tethered

  It started in the quiet spaces between.

  Mira couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  In the library, her hand would drift toward the seat beside her before she realized Lena wasn’t there. In css, she’d stare at the screen, pretending to take notes while rereading old messages. Her phone lived in her p now, dim screen lighting up every few minutes—not that Lena texted often. But just in case. Just in case she did.

  And when she didn’t, Mira still checked.

  Even her dreams had started to blur. Lena’s voice yered into them, all smooth commands and breathy praise. Sometimes she’d wake up flushed and aching, fingers tangled in her sheets, body still chasing something that wasn’t there. And the worst part wasn’t the loneliness—it was the craving. Mira didn’t just want her again. She needed her. Like gravity. Like breath.

  But the need didn’t make anything clearer.

  She didn’t know what they were. Didn’t know if she was allowed to ask. There were no bels between them, no promises. Just the quiet, unbearable heat of being wanted. Owned, in some unspeakable way. But never named.

  She caught herself waiting for Lena’s signals more and more—those tiny gestures that meant follow. A tap on the table. A gnce. Sometimes nothing at all, and that was worse. Mira would spiral in silence, wondering if she’d done something wrong, if she wasn’t good enough, if Lena had simply… lost interest.

  She hated how easily the thought made her stomach drop.

  ---

  By Thursday, Mira had stopped pretending.

  She hovered. Not obviously, not enough for people to question—but she lingered outside lecture halls Lena sometimes passed through. She sat on benches that overlooked Lena’s favorite spots on the quad. She hung around the library longer than necessary, tucking herself near the windows so she could see if Lena walked by.

  And when she did see her—god.

  Lena didn’t always acknowledge her. Sometimes she’d just gnce once, sungsses hiding everything, and keep walking. Other times, she'd tilt her head just barely or slow her steps. That was enough. More than enough. Mira would feel it in her chest for hours after.

  Once, she saw Lena sitting in the dining hall with another student. A girl with glossy bck braids and a loud, bright ugh. Lena didn’t touch her. Didn’t even lean in close. But Mira still stood frozen behind a column for five whole minutes, watching them talk like her whole body had gone hollow.

  She left before Lena saw her. Or maybe Lena had seen her all along.

  ---

  It was getting hard to focus in css.

  She kept zoning out, chewing on her pen cap, eyes gzed as her thoughts drifted back to Lena’s mouth on her neck, Lena’s voice in her ear, Lena’s fingers tracing the inside of her thighs while she whispered, Mine.

  Mine.

  It echoed. She couldn’t shake it.

  She was never more aware of her own body than when she thought of her. The tension curled in her stomach constantly now, low and humming, especially during moments she was supposed to be still—like in lectures, or when sitting with friends. It made her fidgety. Made her want to be touched. She’d catch herself scrolling back through old notes just to see Lena’s handwriting in the margins, wondering what she'd do if Mira showed up at her door.

  Would she smile? Would she pull her in by the waist like she had before?

  Or would she tilt her head and say, softly, You shouldn’t come without being told.

  That thought made Mira burn in her seat.

  ---

  She tried to talk about it. Kind of.

  She sat across from her roommate during a quiet evening in their dorm, pretending to scroll through her ptop.

  “Have you ever… liked someone,” Mira started, too casually, “but you don’t know if you’re allowed to say it?”

  Her roommate raised a brow. “Like… you think they’re taken?”

  “No. It’s more like…” Mira trailed off, eyes dropping to her screen. “It’s complicated.”

  “Hmm.” Her roommate leaned back, thoughtful. “Is this about that senior who’s always looking at you like she owns your soul?”

  Mira nearly dropped her ptop.

  “I—what—”

  “I’m not blind, Mira. You’ve been weird for weeks. And you keep vanishing after study hours.”

  Mira flushed scarlet.

  Her roommate squinted at her. “Wait. Did she do something? Like—is it a good weird or a bad weird?”

  Mira bit her lip.

  “…It’s a good weird,” she whispered.

  The words felt fragile. Like gss in her mouth.

  “Okay. Then maybe don’t overthink it,” her roommate said. “If it makes you feel good, that counts for something, right?”

  Mira nodded slowly, but her heart felt heavy. Because it wasn’t just good. It was too good. Too intense. Too consuming. Like she’d let Lena in and now there was no getting her out again.

  She didn’t want to.

  ---

  That night, when her phone buzzed with a single message—Library. Now.—Mira was already pulling on her hoodie before she finished reading it.

  She practically ran.

  And when she arrived—flushed, breathless, a little too eager—Lena was waiting in their usual corner, a single chair pulled out for her.

  Without a word, Lena guided her to sit. Her hand grazed Mira’s shoulder, then her jaw. Fingers tilting her chin.

  Mira looked up at her, wide-eyed. Breath shaking.

  “I missed you,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

  Lena’s gaze darkened. Something flickered in her eyes—something sharp and wanting.

  But she didn’t smile.

  She just leaned in, lips brushing Mira’s ear.

  “I know.”

  And Mira shivered, dizzy with the simple, terrible truth of it:

  She would wait forever, if Lena asked her to.

  Because somewhere along the way, her heart had tethered itself to Lena’s hands.

  And there was no pulling it back.