Chapter 4 Is This Love?

Isabella's POV

I practically sprinted to my major class.

I was late.

The professor was already at the podium—his voice filling the room, explaining some complex theory.

I kept my head down and slipped through the back door. My eyes scanned the lecture hall, frantic. Terrified of being singled out.

The classroom was packed.

Only one empty seat left. Far corner of the back row.

I held my breath. Hunched over. Crept toward it as quietly as I could—my heart hammering against my ribs.

Only after I'd slid into the seat did I dare lift my head. Exhale.

My nerves, wound impossibly tight all morning, finally eased. Just a fraction.

The person next to me seemed to notice my arrival. Turned to look.

It was him.

Elliot Thomas.

The quiet accompanist from the practice room. Always at the piano. Rarely spoke.

I was surprised—I hadn't expected to see him here.

I'd thought he only existed in practice rooms. Keeping company with nothing but the piano.

He gave me a small nod. His eyes gentle—as if to say he'd already marked me present. The professor wouldn't call me out.

Then he turned his attention back to the podium. Expression focused.

Such a simple gesture.

Yet somehow, it loosened the tight knot of emotions I'd been carrying all morning.

At least not everyone was like Sophia. Watching and waiting for me to fail.

I pulled my notebook and pen from my bag. Set them on the desk. Put on the appearance of an attentive student.

But my pen wouldn't touch the paper.

The professor's voice sounded muffled—like it was coming through water. I could hear every word clearly, but they wouldn't form complete sentences in my head. In one ear, out the other.

My head was a mess.

Scenes from this morning's hallway confrontation—looping like a video I couldn't stop.

Sophia's aggressive expression. Her hand on Maurice's arm. The spectators' gazes.

What I found hardest to accept? Maurice's attitude.

"Getting worked up over someone like that only brings you down to her level."

"You've just been under too much pressure lately—that's why you're being so sensitive…"

Sensitive?

He actually thought I was being too sensitive? Thought I was making something out of nothing?

I gripped my pen so hard my knuckles went white. The tip felt like it might snap.

I found myself thinking back. How Maurice and I first met.

Last winter. The campus library.

It had been snowing heavily that day. Fat flakes falling steadily, quickly blanketing the entire campus in white.

I'd stayed in the library until closing—buried in research materials—only reluctantly packing up when the bell rang.

When I walked outside, the snow had already piled up thick. Each step made a satisfying crunch. The wind cut straight through my clothes, making me shiver.

I stood at the entrance, frozen. Unsure whether I should just push forward through the storm. Let the cold swallow me whole.

That's when he appeared in front of me. Holding a black umbrella.

"Let me walk you home."

His voice was quiet. He seemed a bit shy. His face was flushed from the cold wind—but his eyes were earnest.

I recognized him. A student from the neighboring college. We'd taken the same elective together but had never really talked.

I couldn't even remember his name at first.

But he remembered me.

He said, "You're Isabella, right? The one who plays violin."

That evening, he walked me all the way to my apartment building. He angled most of the umbrella toward me—his own shoulder and sleeve soaked through, turning purple from the cold. Yet he still stood at my door, smiling, asking if I was warm enough.

After that, he started appearing frequently in my life.

He'd bring me breakfast. Show up at the practice room door after I finished rehearsing. Study with me in the library. Sit quietly in the corner listening to me play—piece after piece.

He didn't talk much back then. Introverted. Hardly any other girls around him.

The way he looked at me was always so focused. Like I was the only person in his world.

We fell together naturally.

I thought that was love.

I thought he would always be that Maurice. The one who only had eyes for me. Would always stand by my side. Protect me. Put me first.

But I didn't notice when he started to change.

He became more and more popular. Started joining clubs and activities. More and more girls appeared around him.

Sophia. Susan…

I'd felt uneasy for a while. But I kept forcing myself not to overthink it. Made myself trust him. Trust what we had. Told myself not to doubt so easily.

I kept convincing myself—believe in his devotion. Believe in our relationship. Believe he wouldn't let me be hurt so casually.

Then this morning happened.

Like a slap across the face. Stunning me. Shattering all my trust into pieces.

It turned out the devotion I thought I had? Couldn't make him stand up for me without hesitation when I was being humiliated.

It turned out the love I thought we shared? Wasn't even as important to him as what he called "not letting such petty matters affect you."

"Pfft."

A soft laugh from beside me.

Faint—but enough to interrupt my spiral. Pull me back to reality.

I snapped to attention. Turned to look at Elliot.

He had his head down, pen moving quickly across his notebook—a barely suppressed smile at the corner of his mouth.

Curious, I leaned slightly toward him. Peeked at what he was drawing.

It wasn't class notes at all.

It was a cartoon.

On the paper—a round walrus wearing a suit and glasses, standing at a podium, pontificating. The exaggerated expression and hairstyle looked exactly like our balding professor.

Ridiculous. Oddly endearing.

I couldn't help it. I laughed softly.

"Is this going to be on the final?" I lowered my voice, suppressing my laughter.

Elliot looked up. His eyes crinkled behind his glasses. He replied in a low voice, deadpan—"No. This is a bonus question. Extra credit if you get it right."

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

The tight knot of emotions in my chest? Gently blown away by this simple joke.

"Alright. That's all for today. You're dismissed early."

The professor closed his book.

I let out a long breath. Started gathering my things.

"Bad day?" Elliot asked casually, tucking his doodle-filled notebook into his bag.

I paused. Just nodded slightly. Didn't elaborate. I didn't want to dump my problems on someone else.

"The audition's next week. Don't overthink it." He stood, pushed his chair back under the desk—his tone calm but comforting. "You play beautifully. Elena just has high standards for you."

After saying that, he smiled at me. A clean, gentle smile. Then he picked up his bag, ready to leave.

I walked out with him.

The moment we stepped into the hallway—

I saw a familiar figure.

Maurice was leaning against the wall across from the classroom. Head down. Lost in thought. He looked dejected—shoulders slightly slumped.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up.

He spotted me. And Elliot beside me.

His gaze moved back and forth between us. His expression—which had softened slightly—immediately darkened.

The air grew heavy. Awkward.

Elliot clearly sensed the shift. He stopped. Glanced at Maurice. Then at me.

He didn't ask anything. Just nodded.

"I'll head out then. See you at the practice room, Isabella."

With that, he turned and walked down the hallway in the opposite direction. Didn't look back.

Only Maurice and I remained.

He walked toward me. Stopped in front of me.

"Let's grab lunch together, okay? I want to talk."

I looked up at him.

The hurt from being dismissed this morning—still there. The sting from his word "sensitive"—still there. That disappointment and heartache still pressed heavily on my chest.

But when I saw how he looked now—the redness in his eyes, that careful, afraid-of-being-rejected expression—

My heart still softened against my will.

I was silent for a long time. So long that the crowd in the hallway gradually dispersed.

Maurice and I walked side by side toward the cafeteria.

The lunch bell had just rung. The hallway suddenly flooded with people. The crowd pushed us in different directions—noisy, chaotic all around.

I got bumped in the shoulder by a guy carrying an oversized backpack. My body lurched sideways. Losing balance.

About to have an intimate meeting with the floor.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Please, God. Don't let me eat it in front of Maurice.