Chapter 24: Heart Flutter
Warm beams of morning sunlight poured through the white curtains, filling the room with bright, open light. Julian blinked awake, still half-asleep, and reached for his phone on the nightstand to check the time.
6:37. He'd slept more deeply than usual and ended up waking half an hour late. Rubbing his bleary eyes, he looked around the room, and the events of last night came rushing back in a quiet wave.
He opened the bedroom door. The living room curtains were already pulled wide, sunlight spilling across Isabella's clean, pale face. She took a small sip of her porridge, turned toward him, and smiled softly. "I just ran downstairs and grabbed breakfast. Eat it while it's still hot."
"Oh… yeah."
Julian still wasn't used to waking up to another person in the apartment. He walked over in a daze and sat down. The bowl of savory pork porridge in front of him sent up steady curls of steam. He took a spoonful; the salty, rich flavor spread across his tongue.
"I wanted to make it myself, but the fridge was pretty empty. Tomorrow I'll cook something proper for you, Jules."
"You really don't have to go to all that trouble. I'm fine with whatever."
"No." Isabella rested her chin on her hand, her eyes locking onto him with a gentle but unmistakable edge of reproach. "You clearly haven't been eating right all these years. Look how thin you've gotten."
"I… I do eat properly sometimes…"
Julian dropped his gaze, guilt twisting in his stomach. The truth was, the number of real, sit-down meals he could remember lately was tiny. Most days he just scraped by with whatever was cheap and quick.
"So? Now that your sister is back, I'm going to make sure you eat well. You used to come over to my place for dinner all the time anyway, remember?"
"…Alright. Thanks, Isabella."
"Not a problem at all."
When his bowl was empty, Isabella set her chopsticks down, watched him finish the last of the porridge and the two warm sausage biscuits, then started clearing the dishes.
"Go wash up. I'll take care of these. I'll drive you to school."
"Yeah, thanks."
Julian stood and headed into the bathroom. The cold splash of water on his face sharpened his thoughts.
He remembered how Isabella used to come over and cook for him back then too, always gently scolding him and treating him like her own little brother. After so many years, he hadn't expected her to still care this much, to still be this good to him.
…
The familiar street scene came into view. Students in small groups filed through the school gates. The uniformed security guard watched from his booth.
This time, though, Julian saw it all through the clear window of a private car with a logo he didn't recognize. He had become one of those kids who got dropped off in a nice car—flashy and impossible to miss.
He didn't know much about Isabella's background. She rarely mentioned her family. But clearly she came from money. That elegant, refined presence of hers spoke of a privileged upbringing.
"I'll head in now. See you tonight, Isabella."
"Mhm. See you tonight."
Julian stepped out, ignoring the few curious glances, and hurried toward the building.
At the door to Class Four he stepped inside and immediately noticed an unfamiliar guy sitting in what should have been his seat, along with several other new faces. It hit him—they had switched classrooms today. He turned around and walked into Class Three.
Margaret had arrived earlier and was chatting quietly with the girl in front of her. She still carried that same gentle warmth that made people want to get closer. Her beauty remained untouched by the gray autumn chill.
Ever since Isabella's question the night before, Julian kept catching himself thinking about Margaret. Her clear, gentle face refused to leave his mind. Seeing her now made the flutter in his chest even stronger, impossible to ignore.
He set his backpack down and sat, forcing himself to focus as he pulled out the homework he needed to turn in.
Kayla's conversation suddenly stopped. She spun toward him, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Julian! Julian! Who was that who dropped you off just now? Whose car was that?"
"A neighbor. She's a few years older than me—an older sister type."
"An older sister?" Margaret's attention shifted instantly, her tone carrying a faint note of surprise. "You have a neighbor who's like a big sister?"
"Yeah. She lived across the hall when we were kids. She moved away, but she just came back yesterday."
"Is she close with you?" Margaret asked, her expression calm and casual, like they were just making small talk.
"Pretty close, I guess. She used to look after me a lot."
The loud class bell cut them off. A rustle of books and papers filled the room, followed by the low murmur of students reciting the French text and vocabulary.
Julian held up his French textbook, flipping to the last few pages of the vocab list. His gaze drifted sideways to Margaret without meaning to. Her book lay open on her desk. She kept her head down, reciting softly, her pale, delicate ear peeking out from behind her hair, showing the clean line of her profile.
He had never really thought about romance before. His feelings for Margaret had always felt safe and manageable. But after Isabella's question last night, the word "like" had pushed everything to the surface. The flutter in his chest grew wild, refusing to be pushed down.
Julian kept denying it to himself, but some deeper part of him fought back hard, forcing him to admit the truth.
He scrambled for excuses: she was beautiful, she was smart, they got along well. Of course he'd feel this way. It was normal. Then another voice inside him shot back: if that was all it was, why didn't he feel anything like this toward Isabella?
The struggle left him restless. He stared at Margaret's face until the tension slowly eased. Without realizing it, his lips moved, and her name slipped out in a quiet breath. "Margaret…"
"What?"
Even over the loud recitation, she heard him. She turned, clear eyes meeting his with quiet confusion.
"Nothing… never mind."
Julian jerked his gaze back to his book, hiding his face behind the pages so she wouldn't see.
He suddenly felt like a thief sneaking around in the dark, or a soldier about to face court-martial for desertion—something shameful he couldn't let anyone see.
Twenty minutes later the bell rang for the end of class. Julian set his book down, folded his arms on the desk, and buried his face in them, pretending to catch up on sleep.
"Julian."
That clear, bell-like voice called his name. He lifted his head in a daze. Margaret had turned fully toward him, holding her water bottle, blinking at him with those long lashes fluttering softly.
"…Yeah? What's up?"
"I need to get out."
"Oh, right. Sorry."
He scooted his chair forward to give her room. The faint, clean scent of her drifted past as she stood.
A few minutes later she returned. Julian was still resting his head on his arms, staring blankly at her empty seat, when a cool, soft palm gently patted his cheek.
The touch felt surprisingly good. He almost didn't want it to end.
He stood so she could sit back down, trying to steady his heartbeat while a shadow of unease lingered on his face.
Margaret set her water bottle aside and glanced at him. "What's wrong? You look exhausted this morning. Didn't sleep well again?"
"No…" Julian hesitated, then decided there was no better excuse. "Yeah, I didn't sleep great. Still kind of tired."
"Because of your neighbor big sister?"
"No, no, it's not that… just didn't sleep well."
"Then get some rest during the long break. Class is about to start again."
As she spoke, Margaret reached out and gently stroked his hair. The affectionate gesture caught him completely off guard. It reminded him of the way Isabella had touched his hair the night before, but… the feeling was completely different.