The tale of love

ANGEL'S POV

The whispers started the next morning.

In the hallway. The library. Even the art building.

"Did you hear?"

"That guy from the bar fight? He's loaded."

"Like… private-jet rich."

"Zayne Cole's the heir to ColeTech Industries. His dad's a billionaire."

My head was spinning. I stared at my phone screen, trying to absorb the headlines in the student blog:

"Art Student Revealed As ColeTech Heir"

"Zayne Cole Returns to College After Vanishing for a Year"

"From Boardrooms to Brushes — Billionaire Heir Chooses Art Over Fortune?"

Zayne.

My quiet, hoodie-wearing, sketch-loving partner… was one of the richest guys on campus?

I couldn't believe it. Not because of the money — but because he never acted like it. He didn't flaunt designer bags or flash expensive watches. The guy literally showed up to class with ink stains on his fingers and wore the same hoodie twice in a row.

But one thing was clear now:

He wasn't just mysterious.

He was hiding.

AFTERNOON – TECH BUILDING LOBBY

I spotted Ryan at the base of the stairs, holding a USB stick and looking around like someone just canceled oxygen.

"Ryan," I called. "Did you hear—"

"I don't care," he said quickly, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. "People with trust funds and hidden last names don't impress me."

I blinked. "So… you did hear."

He shoved the USB in his pocket. "He's not here for art. Guys like him don't need school. They drop in for fun, pretend they're humble, then disappear again."

"Ryan—" I started.

"He's not real," Ryan snapped, his voice lower now. "People like Zayne Cole? They have masks. Expensive ones."

Before I could argue, the doors flew open.

And speak of the devil…

Zayne walked in.

He wore a black sweatshirt, sleeves pushed up, and jeans that fit too perfectly. But this time… there was something different. Like the world now saw him. Students stared, some whispered, a few tried to sneak pictures.

He didn't react. He just kept walking.

Straight toward us.

RYAN'S POV

I hated the way everyone looked at him.

Like he was something special. Just because of a last name.

He stopped in front of me, gaze unreadable.

"You dropped this earlier."

Zayne held up a flash drive.

I took it, eyes locked on his.

"Thanks."

He nodded. Turned.

Then paused. Looked back.

"You don't like me much, do you?"

I stared at him, voice cool. "I don't like frauds."

Zayne's jaw ticked. "And I don't like self-righteous perfectionists who think they're the only ones allowed to care about something."

Angel looked between us like she was standing between two volcanoes.

"Guys," she said quickly, "it's not that deep—"

"It is," Zayne said, stepping forward. "You act like you own the whole tech department. Like effort makes you untouchable."

"And you act like you're above it all," I shot back. "Disappearing for a year, now suddenly returning like some tortured artist prince."

"Because I am an artist," Zayne snapped. "I didn't come here to flex. I came here to start over."

"Oh? And now Angel's just part of that fresh start?" I challenged.

He froze.

Angel gasped. "Wait. What is that supposed to mean?"

Zayne didn't answer. And that silence? It was deafening.

I didn't even look at her as I walked off, fists clenched.

ANGEL'S POV

That moment cracked something wide open.

Not between them — but inside me.

Because for the first time, I saw it.

Not just competition.

Not just jealousy.

But two people — broken in different ways — colliding over one thing they both didn't want to admit:

Me.

And the scariest part?

I didn't know who I'd end up breaking in return.

ZAYNE'S POV

I didn't plan to feel this way.

At first, Angel was just another sketch partner. Quiet. Talented. Always looking like her thoughts were somewhere miles away, even when she smiled.

But the more we worked together, the harder it became to ignore her.

The way she leaned over her sketchbook with her tongue poking slightly from her lips when she concentrated. The way she laughed at her own jokes even if no one else did. The way she tried so hard to hide when something was bothering her.

I wasn't just drawn to her.

I was falling for her.

---

FRIDAY – CITY ART TOUR DAY

Our professor gave us the freedom to visit galleries, murals, and local art exhibits for our "City Color Reflection" project.

I offered to go with her.

To my surprise, she said yes.

We met outside the studio around noon. She wore a simple denim jacket over a white top and jeans, her sketchbook tucked under her arm. No makeup. No filters. Just Angel.

And God… did she live up to her name.

"Ready to see the city in color?" I asked.

She smiled. "Only if you're not too busy being mysterious."

We walked for hours. Through back alleys filled with murals, indie galleries playing soft jazz, and tiny coffee shops that smelled like cinnamon and possibility.

She talked about her dreams. Her art. Her pain.

And I listened like every word she said was a brushstroke painting itself into my soul.

---

LATE AFTERNOON – LAKESIDE VIEWPOINT

We stopped at the edge of a small lake outside the city. Sunset was melting over the water, orange and violet dancing on the ripples.

Angel stood with her arms crossed, sketching the horizon.

"This is my favorite view," she said softly. "I used to come here with my dad."

I looked at her, and something twisted in my chest.

"You're strong, you know," I said. "You pretend you're not. But you are."

She looked at me then, really looked. "You don't even know me."

"I know enough."

She blinked, as if surprised by the warmth in my voice. Or maybe she wasn't used to people actually seeing her.

I reached out and gently brushed some charcoal smudge off her cheek.

She froze.

So did I.

But I didn't pull away.

Not this time.

---

EVENING – BACK ON CAMPUS

We got back around 7 p.m., and she offered to introduce me to her friends before heading to her dorm.

And that's how I met Annie and Lucy.

We ran into them outside the dorm entrance. Both of them gave me that look — the protective best friend radar thing girls do.

"So," Lucy said, folding her arms, "this is Zayne."

I raised a brow. "That obvious?"

"You were the one who saved her at the bar, weren't you?" Annie asked, eyeing me.

Angel blushed. "Can we not turn this into an interrogation?"

Lucy leaned in. "We're just checking if he has a soul. And if he breaks your heart, we break his nose."

I laughed. "Noted."

They relaxed after that. Annie asked me about my favorite artists, Lucy grilled me about money rumors, and Angel just sat there smiling.

It felt… natural.

Like maybe I had a place here. Not as the billionaire's son. Not as the guy who disappeared for a year. But just… me.

Before they left, Angel turned to me.

"Thanks for today," she said softly.

I nodded, my heart beating way too fast. "You make the city look better."

She didn't reply. But her eyes sparkled.

And that was enough.

---

LATE NIGHT – ZAYNE'S DORM

I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling.

For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like I was running from something.

Because maybe…

Just maybe…

I'd found someone worth stopping for.