Chapter 6

Aiden wants me to throw this bouquet but I don't want to. Ethan sent these flowers with feelings and throwing this bouquet, crushing these flowers means crushing his feelings. I know there's nothing between us—no chance at all. But his feelings, just by thinking about hurting his feelings, hurts me. 

Mom always said if a person gives you a gift then you should always keep that—no matter what that gift is: jewelry, money, expensive, non expensive. Gifts are a person's emotions. How can I throw this bouquet? 

“Why does Aiden have no emotions?” I murmur. I stand up from the bed, grasping the bouquet. As I walk outside of the campus, I look for someone to give this bouquet. It would be better to give this bouquet to another person rather than throwing it away. 

My eyes search for a person, and it lands over an old lady, walking on the sidewalk. I take big steps towards her and offer her that bouquet. She furrows her brows. 

“This is for you. You are beautiful,” I say. Her eyes sparkle as she smiles widely and grasps the bouquet.

“Thank you so much,” she says. She picks a flower from the bouquet and renders me that flower. “You are gorgeous. Take it.”

I chuckle at her words and nod. “Okay. Bye.” I grasp the flower and make my way back to my dorm, bidding her goodbye.

As I enter the room, my eyes settle over the red rose I'm holding. What should I do with this flower now? I was wanting to get rid of Ethan's flowers but at the end, it again came back to me. It's just one flower; there's nothing wrong with keeping one flower, I guess.

I look for a book and my eyes land on my favorite fairytale book—Beauty and the Beast. I flash a wide grin as I open the book and put the flower inside it. 

Neither flowers waste nor Aiden's feelings hurt thankfully. 

“Now go and take a shower, Belle.” I grab my towel and my garments ultimately, wanting to get fresh and take a shower as soon as possible.

New academic year is about to start in a few days; I thought of revising previous year's topics for better understanding so I made my way to the library after the shower. I pick a book from the shelf and take a nearby seat to study. 

Just then, I inhale a familiar intoxicating smell—my pulse quickens. It's Ethan's scent. The unmistakable blend of musk and amber that sends shivers down my spine. That day in the corridor, he was so close to me that I memorized his cologne somehow. 

My head turns slightly, my eyes looking for a glimpse of him in the library until it lands on him. His eyes meet mine, making my heart beat increase. I look down hurriedly and bury my face inside my notebook. I wish he had not seen me gawking at him. I swallow hard and glance up slowly to see if he's still looking or not. I sigh in relief as I witness him reading his book. 

His long disheveled hair, before his dark brown eyes, round shaped eyeglasses adorning his face—he’s looking hot. I'm staring at him continuously and I think he knows I'm staring. He just doesn't seem to care about that. 

“Why are you staring at him, Belle? You are here to study, not to stare at him.” 

As I hold my pen, I begin to write notes down in my notebook—I envision Ethan's eyes. His dark brown eyes pierce my soul. His eyes feel familiar. His presence is making me uncomfortable even though he's far away from me. Why am I unable to focus on my study? 

“Focus. Belle,” I murmur and stare back at my notebook. My eyes widen as I see Ethan's name written on the whole page. Why did I write this? Are you an idiot Belle? 

“What are you doing?” I shout at myself. Everyone's gaze turns at me including Ethan's. My cheeks flash red in embarrassment. I stare at his name on my notebook again. I should have not come here. 

“Belle,” Ethan’s voice passes through my ears. I glance up, turning my head slightly up. He's standing beside me. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his face concerned. I can only nod, my throat suddenly dries and words stuck in my throat.

“Are you unable to solve problems? I can give you a hand,” he says as he sits beside me. I stare at him from toe to head. 

Seriously! I'm the topper of the class. He'll give me a hand. How? The way he looks—the tattoos, long hair, his cold expression face and tight jaw; he doesn't seem like a studious person.

“Show me,” he says as he tries to peep into my notebook. What if he sees his name on my notebook? 

I shut my notebook hurriedly and glare at him as I utter, “I don't need your help.” 

Without wasting a second, I stand up, gather my things, and run outside the library. I can't bear his presence anymore. It's better to go back to the dorm room. 

“Belle.” I stop as his voice interrupts me. What does he want to say now? 

“Did you like the flowers?” He asks. 

As I turn to him, staring into his eyes, I utter, “I threw that bouquet.” I lied. Obviously, why would I tell him that I gave the flowers to someone else because I didn't want to throw it?

My heart aches at the sight of him, his face showing disappointment and hurt. I am not that type of girl who likes hurting boys' feelings. I know he's interested in me. I can see that, but I can't do anything for him.

He takes steps towards me. “Why can't you like me?” He asks. His cologne is intoxicating and sending shivers down my spine.

“I told you I have a boyfriend.” 

“I don't believe that,” he retorts, his breathing fanning over my face as he stops an inch away from me. “You are lying to me.” 

“Why would I lie?” I glare into his eyes. 

“Because girls are like this. Despite liking, they lie that they have no feelings,” he says.

As he takes more steps towards me, I walk backwards. My eyes take a glimpse of every corner of the corridor. If students see us together, they'll think that we are a couple. I don't want any drama in my life.

“I don't have romantic feelings for you.” I press my teeth. “I love my boyfriend.”

“You are lying again. There's no one in your life,” he says. 

“I am not lying.” I tilt my face slightly, my brows furrow. “Why don't you believe me?”

“If you are not lying then where's your boyfriend? Huh?” His face just an inch away from mine, glaring into my eyes as his pulse quickens. “Why does no one know about your relationship?” 

I take a step back—the closeness between us threatens me. “Because I kept it to myself.”

“Why?” He raises his brows. 

“Because I like keeping my love life private.” I shoot a quick response. 

“I like my privacy. I don't want anyone to interfere in my love life.” His jaw tightens at my words. I swallow hard as I stare at my feet.

“I understand that you like me. It's fine. But forget me now. There are lots of girls in the school. Hook up with them.” 

He must be wanting to hook up with me, but I'm not a hookup person. I would only date someone if I'm interested in marrying that person in future, and by seeing Ethan's looks—I don't think I'll ever want to marry a tattooed guy.

“I don't want anyone else.” He shakes his head. I stare back at him. “I don't want to hook up. I just want you.” 

My mind swirls with frustration. Why he's not understanding I'm someone's girlfriend—he's just not ready to back off his stubbornness. 

I turn on my heels and make my way back to my room without saying anything further. I close the door with a yank and sit down on my bed hopelessly. There's nothing I can do about Ethan. He's stubborn. I can only pray that after a few days he'll back off his stubbornness.