Aaron

You met on an ordinary day—in the library. You were standing on a rickety stool, trying to reach a textbook, when you lost your balance. Someone's hand caught you.

“Be careful,” said a low voice.

You turned around and saw him—tall, neat, wearing an expensive shirt. He easily pulled out a textbook and held it out:

• You were looking for him. Aaron.

From that day on, he showed up too often for it to be a coincidence. At the campus gates. In the cafeteria. During breaks.
“People are watching,” you said once.
"Let them get used to it. I can't hide the one I like."

But your father kept saying, "Stay away from people like that." You tried. You pushed Aaron away—sharply, coldly. One day, your father saw you together and forbade you to go near him.

And yet, that night, when you were trying to study, you heard a quiet sound at the window. Aaron was sitting on the windowsill, wearing a light T-shirt.

— You... what are you doing here?
— I got in. There was no other way.

• You can't be here. It's wrong.
• These are not your words. These are your father's words.

He came closer.
— Are you afraid to be around me because of money? Because of him?

You looked away.

• You live a life where there is no place for me...
• Will you let me be in yours?

He barely touched your wrist.
— Tell me honestly... do you want me to leave?