Chapter 1: Viral Hearts and Hidden Fears

My boyfriend doesn’t have the best temper—he’s always quick to snap at me. But every time he does, he always regrets it right away.

Sometimes, after he loses his cool, he’ll run a hand through his hair and mumble an apology, eyes fixed anywhere but mine. It’s like he’s stuck somewhere between stubborn pride and real guilt, and I can always tell when he’s feeling bad about it. The awkwardness hangs in the air for a bit, but then he’ll do something small—grab my favorite iced coffee, scribble a note on my sketchbook. That’s his way of saying sorry without actually saying the words, and somehow, it feels even more genuine that way. Sometimes I think, wow, he really is trying—even if he’s terrible at talking about his feelings.

Out of nowhere, my boyfriend went viral online. A classmate had secretly filmed him and posted the video on TikTok, and it blew up overnight. I couldn’t help but feel a jolt of irritation—secretly filming someone like that isn’t just rude, it’s a privacy thing. But before I could even process it, the whole internet had already seen him.

The clip was only a few seconds—him lost in thought, sketching, sunlight catching in his hair. It was one of those videos you’d usually scroll right past, but for some reason, people couldn’t look away. Maybe it was the way the light hit his face, or how focused he looked. My phone buzzed nonstop, and even my mom texted: “Is that your boyfriend? The cute art boy everyone’s talking about?” It was surreal, almost like watching someone else’s life.

“Who is this guy? He’s insanely good-looking! 😍”

“Which college is he at? IS HE SINGLE??”

“Whoa, he’s in the Fine Arts Department—I saw him during orientation!”

“He has a girlfriend. They’re always together… #relationshipgoals”

The comments just kept rolling in—each one a reminder that Mason Carter wasn’t just mine anymore. Strangers were analyzing every little thing—his hands, his clothes, the way he chewed on his pencil. Some people even obsessed over what kind of music he listened to while painting. It was wild. Watching the world discover a secret I’d been keeping close felt like someone opening a diary I never meant to share.

When I rushed to the studio to find Mason Carter, the video had already racked up over ten million views. He was still sitting there, his legs sprawled out under the easel, irritably crumpling a fresh sketch into a ball. He glanced at me, barely acknowledging I was there, then flicked his eyes away, his jaw tight.

The whole room was alive with whispers—everyone acting like they weren’t watching, but I could feel their eyes following us even when they looked away. Mason looked so out of place in the chaos, his jaw set, frustration etched deep into his face. He’s always hated attention, and now he was smack in the middle of a circus he never wanted.

I didn’t even think—I just darted in front of the easel and held up my phone so he could see. “You’re famous now,” I said, trying to sound light, but my voice shook a little. I laughed, even though it wasn’t really funny.

He looked totally unfazed. Didn’t even glance at the phone—just stared right at me, expression unreadable. We locked eyes for a couple seconds, then he curled his lips into a half-smirk. “Move.”

He said it in that flat, dry way of his, like he was already tired of dealing with me. I could tell by the way his shoulders slumped, and the little sigh he almost let out. For a second, I wondered if he cared at all, or if I’d just interrupted his flow. His eyes slid past me, and my heart dropped, but I held my ground anyway.

…

Oh. I was blocking his view of the still life. It hit me all at once, and I felt my cheeks go warm. I pouted, dragged over a little stool, and plopped down next to him, giving his ankle a gentle nudge with my foot. “Am I your girlfriend or not…?” I muttered, trying to sound playful, but I was half-hoping he’d reassure me.

He didn’t say anything, just white-knuckled his charcoal stick, gripping it so hard his fingers looked bone-white. The way he attacked the paper with harsh, jagged strokes totally gave him away—he was really worked up.

I watched his shoulders tense, his jaw clenching and unclenching. It wasn’t just about the video—something else was simmering underneath. I nudged him again, trying to get a reaction, a smile, anything. But he just kept going, the charcoal scraping across the paper, the rough sound filling the space between us.

“Fine, I’ll leave.”

He really did ignore me. I raised my eyebrows, smoothed my skirt, picked up my bag, and just as I was about to leave, he suddenly reached out and grabbed my wrist. There was a heartbeat’s pause, then he tossed the charcoal stick into the groove of the easel and finally looked at me for real.

His grip was gentle but steady, his eyes suddenly clear and searching. For a moment, the studio faded away—it was just the warmth of his hand on my skin, the crumpled sketches and smudged charcoal scattered at our feet. I could hear my own heartbeat, loud in my ears.

“People are losing their minds. You joining in too?”

His voice was rough, almost pleading. I saw something in his eyes I’d never seen before—he was overwhelmed, maybe even scared, though he’d never admit it. I felt my own nerves settle just a bit, knowing I wasn’t the only one feeling out of place.

…

It’s not like I was making a scene. I was just… uneasy. That morning, students from other colleges had started showing up, peeking in just to catch a glimpse of him. He’d always been popular at our school, but now he was getting attention from total strangers. As his girlfriend, it made me feel weirdly exposed, and more than a little insecure.

It was like the ground had shifted under my feet. I’d always been proud of him, but now I felt raw—like I was sharing something precious with people who didn’t know him at all. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I could just disappear from all those curious eyes pressed against the studio windows.

“Mason, are you going to leave me?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

His gaze darkened, and he looked at me like I was being ridiculous. “No. And besides…” He reached out and tapped my forehead gently with his index and middle fingers—a little gesture he always did, like a light knock on the door of my thoughts. “You’re the one who’s always spacing out, remember?”

He softened, just a little, voice teasing. That was his way of reassuring me, awkward but real. For a second, I caught a glimpse of the old Mason—the one who’d crack dumb jokes just to make me roll my eyes.

“Mason, smile for me. You haven’t smiled in forever.”

I leaned back in my chair, watching him. It was almost dinnertime, and people were trickling out of the studio, voices echoing in the hall. Mason’s sketch was still unfinished, the lines on the paper smudged and half-done. He rested his arm on his knee, head bowed, not even a hint of a smile anywhere.

The golden hour sunlight streamed through the windows, painting stripes across the floor. I wished I could freeze the moment—press it between the pages of a book, or save it in a jar like fireflies—but Mason just looked tired, like he was carrying a hundred things I couldn’t see.

“Mason, give me a smile.”

I flipped my phone to camera mode and aimed it at him. In the frame, he looked annoyed, rubbing at his drawing with his finger, smudging the lines. Finally, he glanced at me and forced a half-hearted smile. I snapped the picture before he could change his mind.

Honestly, if he wasn’t so good-looking, no one would put up with that fake smile. I couldn’t help but think it, and the thought made me giggle.

I laughed, the sound bouncing around the empty studio. “That’s the worst smile I’ve ever seen,” I teased, hoping he’d break. He just rolled his eyes and muttered something I couldn’t quite catch, but there was a softness there—a flash of the boy I’d fallen for.

Back at the dorm, I pulled out my iPad and scrolled through the two photos I’d taken of him that night to start drawing. The lighting had been perfect—even if he hadn’t really smiled in the photo, I could make him smile in my drawing. His mouth should curve just like this… I could almost feel the stylus gliding across the screen, the blue glow lighting up my face.

I drew for a long time. My hand started to ache, but I didn’t want to stop. When I’m drawing him, I never seem to get tired. In the end, I gave him a much gentler smile in the picture—a smile I hadn’t seen from him in ages, not really.

The hum of my roommates faded into the background as I got lost in the sketch. I added little details—a dimple, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes. It was the Mason I missed, the one who could make me laugh until my stomach hurt. When I finished, I held the iPad out and stared at it, my chest tightening, eyes a little watery. That was the Mason I wanted back.

I compared the photo and the drawing, then opened Instagram Stories and posted the drawing, carefully rewriting and deleting the caption until it was just right: “Next time, I want Mason to smile like this.”

I hesitated before hitting post, thumb hovering over the button. Part of me wanted everyone to see how I saw him; the other part worried I was being way too obvious. But I hit share anyway, hoping he’d see it and just get it—get me.

…

Honestly, I guess I’m a little possessive. Maybe it’s just me, but now that he’s getting all this attention, I feel like everyone’s after him. I wanted people to know: he’s mine, even if I’m not sure where we stand.

I scrolled through the story views, watching the numbers tick up. It was silly, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe I just wanted to stake my claim—like, hey, I’m still here, even if it feels like he’s slipping away. God, I sound like such a dork.

…