Page 3 of Never Enough

“Is our roommate here?” a familiar voice calls out from the kitchen.

“Eden!” I exclaim, rounding the corner and spotting her in the kitchen arms wide and welcoming. Eden was the nicest girl at Whitmore Institute, and she always stood up to Victoria. Right now, she’s a much-needed blast from the past.

Our eyes meet, and something unspoken passes between us. All at once, I’m launching my tired ass to the kitchen. On the bright side, I’m also distancing myself from the cackling hyenas in the living room.

“Dahp-aknee!” she squeals, and then we’re colliding, a tangle of limbs and wild giggles that dance around the kitchen. Just what I needed after a tough first day.

She squeezes tight, grounding me, solid and real. For a moment, the rest of the world—the cruel intentions of Celeste and Victoria, and the deep ache for Alex—falls away. Sometimes, a girl just needs a little backup to remind herself that she can persevere.

Eden pulls back, her emerald eyes twinkling with mischief. A playful frown creases her ungroomed brows, a mock serious expression that makes her look even more mischievous. With her by my side, I know I won’t be bullied away by those mean girls.

Chapter two

Daphne

The following day, I stand outside Marketing 402. While my major is Music Performance, I’m also minoring in Arts Marketing. It’s a shame Eden isn’t in this class with me.

I take a deep breath and step into the classroom. Cool air envelops me.

Scanning the room, I search for Alexandru. I have a strange sense that he’s here, even though I can’t see him yet. It’s like my intuition is guiding me, calling his name with every breath.

The moment my eyes fall upon the third row, I am certain I have found him. It’s Alex.

He’s lounging back in his chair, the light catching the golden strands of hair that fall carelessly over his piercing brown eyes. There’s a subtle shift in his attire from my memory. No longer wearing black-framed glasses and nerdy tees, he dons a crisp button-down shirt that perfectly accentuates his lean frame. He’s still undeniably attractive but not quite the same. Does he remember, like I do? Is he dying without me like I am without him? Memoriesflood my mind as I draw closer: the sound of his laughter, the warmth of his gaze behind those glasses he no longer wears. Now, there’s a distance between us, a chasm that didn’t exist before.

Yet I’m pulled to him. Always.

Sauntering to an empty seat to his left, I muster all my courage for the next few moments. They’re possibly the moments that will define our relationship moving forward.

Not knowing if I’m welcome to call him by his nickname, I opt for his full first name. “Hi, Alexandru,” I murmur as I slip into the seat next to him.

He doesn’t respond right away, so I speak a little louder, hoping he isn’t ignoring me. “Hi, Alex.”

Would it be inappropriate to discuss what happened that night? It was exactly midnight when I broke into his second-story window, and once it was all said and done, the only question he had was, “Why are you wet?” At the time, I had literal water dripping from my hair. My clothes were soaked because I hadn’t had time to change before I ran to the Whitmore home. It was like a piece of my soul—the very piece that’s my favorite because it’s the one that contains him—knew he was in trouble. More trouble than what I was in.

He was clueless about the purpose of me crawling through his window that night. I’d rather keep it that way.

In real time, Alexandru turns, and for a moment, our eyes meet. My breath catches, searching for a sign of the connection we once had. But he looks away, leaving me in a silence that stings sharper than any words.

I settle into my seat, contemplating what we once shared. Who is this stranger, dressed in the costume of someone I once knew, someone I—dare I admit?—still long for. Is the boy who dreamed of being a chef, who confided his secret love for culinary arts, truly gone?

As customary for the first day of class, the professor has us introduce ourselves. I don’t listen until it’s Alex’s turn.

“Alexandru Whitmore, but you can call me Alex,” he states flatly, lacking the passion and creativity that once radiated from him. “I’m a business and communications major.” I wonder if the cutthroat world of business snuffed out his flame.

When it’s my turn, Alex’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak. It makes me feel unhinged. Once upon a time, I caught a peek into his world. On the outskirts but close enough to touch, at least. Now, it’s all a distant dream. I’m walking aimlessly in a haze, and I’ve just now realized that he hasn’t been dreaming about me as I have been about him.

As class drones on, I have the impression of observing from a distance as an outsider. Then, the professor announces our firstproject—finding a way to market our hobbies. I glance over at Alex and can’t help but sense a pang of nostalgia. Since I’m sitting next to him, the professor pairs us together.

“Favorite hobbies?” I offer tentatively. When Alex doesn’t answer right away, I panic and blurt out my own. “Playing the harp.” So stupid. He already knows I play the harp.

There is a long pause before he finally responds, “I d-don’t have any h-hobbies.”

“None?” I press gently, remembering the times I played in their mansion while he was in the kitchen, surrounded by spices and laughter. “Not even cooking?”

“S-sorry,” he mutters, diverting his gaze and confusing me with his sudden change of topic.

“Sorry for what?” I ask, genuinely perplexed.

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