The festival glitter had faded. Booths disassembled, laughter replaced with the usual morning bell and the shuffle of students dragging their feet into class.

But Melanie spent the entire day not talking to him. Which was impressive, really, considering they were seatmates.

But there were ways. She’d mastered them now. Pretending to write notes, slipping out during breaks, eyes fixed on the blackboard like it held the meaning of life. It didn’t. It held trigonometry. Which wasn’t nearly as difficult as trying not to look at Matt when he leaned back in his chair, glanced her way, and didn’t say anything either.

After school, she bolted before he could catch her. Her legs knew the way by now. Past the gym, around the gravel path, straight into the cool air of the Karate club’s practice room. The sound of fists hitting pads, the scent of floor polish and sweat—it was grounding. It made sense.

“Wow, what’s up with her?” one of the close guys whispered to Knox, stretching nearby. “She’s been here almost every day lately.”

“I’m not so sure, let me talk to her.”

Knox stepped onto the mat like he belonged there. Because, of course, he did.

“Hey.”

Melanie turned, wiping her forehead with the edge of her sleeve. “Hey. Wanna spar with me?”

He blinked, eyebrows lifting. “Well, that’s sudden.”

“Not really,” she said, tying her hair back tighter. “You always say I’m too soft. Here’s your chance to prove it.”

Knox gave a crooked smile, the kind she knew from childhood—the one that usually came before trouble, or teasing, or both.

“Sure, let’s see what you’ve got.”

They bowed.

Melanie moved first—quick, sharp, pushing herself to the edge of breath and balance. Knox matched her, steady and grounded, like a mountain in motion.

“You’re not saying much today,” he said between blocks.

“Didn’t realize sparring came with a conversation.”

“It does when you’re trying to beat the air instead of your opponent.”

She faltered for half a second, and Knox caught her wrist—not hard, just enough to stop her mid-punch.

His eyes searched hers, unreadable.

“You okay?”

She pulled back. “Fine.”

“You sure?”

No. Not even a little.

But instead of answering, she reset her stance. “Come on, Knox. Less talking, more fighting.”

He let her go, gave her space. “Alright. But you know I’m not letting you win just because you’re trying to avoid something.”

“I’m not avoiding anything,” she snapped.

But her kick landed just shy of center. Off by a fraction.

Just enough to feel it.

The final bell rang in Melanie’s head as she stepped back, chest heaving from the exertion, sweat clinging to her brow. Knox stood across from her, breathing evenly like he always did. He had this calmness to him that used to make her feel safe. Now it just made her feel seen, which was worse.

Because she didn’t want to be seen. Not today.

“You're getting better,” he said, shaking out his arms as he stepped off the mat.

“Still too soft?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.

Knox gave her a look, the kind that said, don’t do that. “You’re not soft, Mel. You just hit like you’re trying not to feel something.”

She snorted. “Maybe I just like punching things.”

He handed her a towel, which she took without meeting his eyes. The silence stretched between them like a taut wire.

Knox leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching her with those same steady eyes she used to trust with everything—scraped knees, failed math quizzes, secrets she never told anyone else.

Melanie blew a sharp breath out of her face, trying—and failing—to wrangle her hair into a bun with one hand while still holding her water bottle in the other. The old tie around her wrist snapped mid-stretch, a sharp little twang that echoed her frustration.

“Perfect,” she muttered, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders. Sweat was already gathering at her neck again. “This is gonna drive me insane.”

“You want one?” Knox’s voice floated over, lazy and unconcerned, as he pulled out a black hair tie from his wrists—thicker, sturdier than hers.

She blinked. “Why do you even have that?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I train with girls, Mel. I’m prepared.”

“......”

“......”

“Wow, you’re making moves on girls as a hobby now huh?”

Knox playfully smiles. And then Melanie playfully punches his arm.

Knox laughs. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

“You better be.”

She hesitated, but reached for it. Before she could take it, though, he stepped closer and said, “Turn around. I’ll do it.”

She froze. “You know how to tie hair?”

Knox just smirked, motioning with two fingers. “Learned from the best. My little sister used to make me do hers before soccer practice. Said I was the only one who didn’t pull.”

Against her better judgment, Melanie turned, heart thudding a little too loudly for something so stupid. She handed over the tie, and his fingers brushed hers—warm, steady.

He didn’t say anything as he gathered her hair, gentle but sure, smoothing it back like it was second nature. His hands didn’t linger, but they didn’t rush either. When he finished, he gave the bun a small, satisfied tug.

Knox’s gaze lingered on the curve of Melanie’s neck, heat rising to his cheeks.

“There. Fighter-grade. Won’t move unless you do something dramatic.”

Melanie glanced back at him over her shoulder. “You’re full of surprises.”

Knox smiled, that slow, familiar one that never quite reached both sides of his mouth. “Only the ones you forgot how to see.”

She stared at him for half a second too long before shaking her head and turning away, trying to play it off. “I’m going to pretend that wasn’t weirdly poetic.”

Through the drills, Melanie always won. Having Knox on the floor and above him was Melanie. They stared at each other. Feeling something?

“Want to go again?” Knox asked, tossing her a glance that felt heavier than it should have.

She hesitated. “You’re not tired?”

He grinned. “You’re the one who keeps saying I don’t hit hard enough.”

“You don’t,” she said automatically, but her voice was softer this time.

They squared up again. She moved fast, sharp, the way he always told her to. He blocked her, dodged, tapped her shoulder lightly—enough to score the point. Again. And again. And every time she came in close, that stupid hair tie tugged gently at the back of her scalp, reminding her.

After the fifth round, she dropped her arms. “Okay, what is this?”

Knox raised an eyebrow. “What’s what?”

“This… thing you’re doing. Being all—” she gestured vaguely at him, frustrated by the way he just stood there like he hadn’t rearranged the air between them. “Nice. Like, extra nice.”

He blinked, then tilted his head. “You’d rather I be a jerk?”

“I’d rather you be consistent.”

“I am consistent,” he said with that maddening, lopsided grin. “You’re just not used to someone meaning it.”

But actually, in all honesty, Knox just wanted to prolong the time spent with her.

Melanie stared at him, throat dry. Her mind scrambled for something sharp to say, something that would push the moment back into safe territory. But all she could think about was how careful his hands had been in her hair. How her name sounded different when he said it low.

She scoffed, grabbing her bag. “You’re annoying.”

“Consistently,” Knox agreed, but his voice followed her out the door like a thread.

And later that night, when she pulled the tie from her hair, she didn’t throw it away.

She wrapped it around her wrist. Just for now.

The locker room was half-empty, the clatter of gear and chatter starting to fade as most of the fighters filtered out. Melanie sat on the bench, towel draped over her shoulders, unlacing her shoes with the mindless focus of someone trying not to think.

She didn’t notice Iris, one of their karate clun mates, until she dropped down beside her, a bottle of coconut water in hand and one perfectly arched brow already raised.

Melanie glanced over. “What?”

Iris grinned. “Nothing.”

Melanie narrowed her eyes. “You’re definitely thinking something.”

Shay twisted the cap off her drink and took a slow sip, like she was stalling for dramatic effect. “Just wondering how long you’re planning to keep pretending there’s not a whole thing going on between you and Knox.”

Melanie snorted. “There’s no thing.”

“Uh-huh. So he tied your hair for you? Hmmm.” Iris pointed, casual but precise. 

Melanie looked down at it. She had forgotten it was even still there—Knox’s black hair tie, looped twice around her wrist like it belonged there. She slid her hand over it.

“He just gave it to me. My old one broke.”

“Mmhmm. And I’m sure he definitely doesn’t carry a stash just in case his training partner has a hair emergency.”

Melanie didn’t answer.

Iris leaned in, voice dropping just enough. “Look, I’m not saying you have to, like, carve your initials into a tree or make out in the storage closet. But maybe try not looking like someone who thinks about him when he’s not in the room.”

“I don’t,” Melanie said, a little too quickly.

Iris just grinned wider. “Sure, Mel. That’s why you watch the door every time it opens. Totally normal behavior.”

Melanie stood abruptly, grabbing her bag. “I’m going to get coffee.”

“Tell Knox I say hi,” Shay called after her. “Or just stare at him until he figures it out—whatever works!”

Melanie didn’t answer, but as she passed the mirrored wall near the exit, she caught a glimpse of herself—and the hair tie—and paused for a beat.

Just for a second.

Then she kept walking.