Page 43 of The Romance Rivalry

Because I think I know how he feels. A simple desire to talk about the thing that you love and find a community who shares that love. But it grows into something much more. And brings with it a life that you might not have been prepared for, with all its good... and its bad.

He shakes his head as if clearing his thoughts, bringing him back to me, here in the library. “It’s been a blessing in disguise, though. Without the revenue and sponsorships from my channel, I wouldn’t have been able to afford coming to Brighton.”

My eyebrows shoot up. It’s true, there’s a lot of money to be had for some in this online space. I’ve been fortunate enough to do pretty well and save up some for my future. But if Aiden is funding his own college education, he’s got to be doing better than I am.

Or maybe that’s why he wants this brand deal so much.

He senses my eyes fixed on him and turns his head to meet my gaze. He laughs. “What? Do I have something on my face?” He rubs his cheek.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. I was just doing the internal math, I guess.”

“You really make everything into a competition when it comes to our channels, don’t you? Can’t we both exist in the space? Throw me a bone, okay? I don’t want beef. I need my online presence to continue to grow and do well.”

“Why’s it so important to you?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes like what he’s about to say is just nonsense. Which makes me think that it’s actually one of the most important things he’ll ever share with me. “I’m basically on my own.” His voice is light, easy-breezy. Too light.Too easy-breezy. I want to reach over and touch his arm, but I tuck my hand under my leg instead, forcing it to stay near me.

“Your parents...” I leave the question hanging in the air.

“I’m a Korean cliché. My mom’s a doctor. My dad’s a doctor. My older brother?” He lifts his brows at me, inviting me to finish the thought.

“Let me guess... a doctor?” I try to smile, but it comes out small, sympathetic.

“Tell her what she’s won!” he jokes. “Anyways, that was always the expectation on me. But I was the kid in the corner reading books. And then writing stories I made up in my head. Being a writer, however, was not in the future-professions-for-Korean-kids manual. It wasn’t until I started reading romance novels and seeing these stories about how a lot of these authors used to have really incredibly impressive careers as lawyers, doctors, neuroscientists—heck, even politicians—and eventually chose to be writers instead that I had the courage to say I wanted to be a writer. And when my channel took off, and the money started coming in, I finally believed it could be a reality for me.”

Something shifts in my heart right at this moment. I’m not quite sure what it is, but I know it’s monumental. Like the last remaining scales that hid the entirety of Aiden Jeon from me have fallen off. And I know I’m in deep shit.

“That’s”—I swallow back the lump of emotion formingin my throat—“incredible, Aiden.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so. My parents were, as expected, completely unimpressed. I was to stop this immediately. But honestly, I don’t think I could stop writing even if I tried. And then they resorted to the threats. I’d be disowned if I didn’t go to med school. Financially cut off. No longer a member of this family.” He says this in a deep, serious voice, mocking whoever it was that told him this news. His eyes close for one second, tight, brow furrowed.

This time I don’t stop myself. I reach out and lay my hand on his forearm. I squeeze gently.

When he opens them, he straightens his back as if fortifying himself. I pull my hand away.

“So if ever anyone questions my Gen Z status, here I am, living off my internet earnings, estranged from my family, studying to be a broke and tortured writer one day.” He turns to look at me. “And that is why I’m gonna beat you in this competition.” The words are ominous, but he says them with such levity.

But if I win, if I fall in love first, he has to give up his online presence, the source of his income. My face must give away the horror of this realization.

“Oh no, no you don’t. You don’t get to feel sorry for me or worry about what it means if you beat me.” He laughs. “Plus, I have no intention of losing and every intention of falling in love first. Look, I’ve got enough financial aid from thegovernment to cover this year, so don’t worry. That’s who I was talking to earlier. My financial aid advisor. She was going over the forms for me to already start applying for next year’s funds.”

“Wait, the girl who was basically embracing you earlier is your financial aid advisor?” I scrunch my nose. That doesn’t seem very appropriate.

“Embracing me? What? I think maybe she put her hand on my arm to tell me to relax when I was getting frustrated. I have trouble reading some kinds of things, like long forms and odd formatting, so I was getting riled up. She just wanted me to slow down and work my way through it.”

I recall Aiden mentioning that he had struggled with reading my reaction emoji in our texts. It starts to make sense. My brother, Eugene, has a similar struggle. After having a hard time in his early years of school, and being branded as a troubled kid, he was finally diagnosed with dyslexia. He was able to start getting the help and support he needed, and everything changed for him. I wonder if Aiden was able to get the same kind of help. It would be cool if I could get Aiden to talk to Eugene so my little brother can see that someone can succeed despite having some challenges with reading.

But I don’t want to make assumptions. And since Aiden hasn’t actually shared any of the details with me, I don’t think it’s right to ask right now.

I feel a physical pull in myself, a stretching, like I’m making room for all this information Aiden is sharing with me about himself.

Aiden, the writer, going against his parents’ expectations and wishes.

Aiden, the self-made man, trying to finance his education and his future.

Aiden, the reader, whose brilliant mind struggles with forms and formatting but can plow through the density of Austen like it’s nothing.

“Aiden, I think we should forget the competition altogether. I was basically just saying I might want to step back from my book review stuff anyways. I’m struggling to keep my head afloat...” I stop myself from sharing too much. It’s probably already obvious—we’re partners in a class together. But I barely admit my struggles to myself. It’s nearly impossible to share them with other people.

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