chapter 20: the dress

Chapa POV:

I woke up to the faint morning light filtering through the curtains. As I opened my eyes, it took me a moment to realize where I was. This wasn't my bed. The sheets were too soft, the scent too unfamiliar—woodsy, with a hint of something fresh, maybe citrus. Then it hit me. I was in Bose's bedroom. The events of last night came rushing back, and I felt my stomach twist with a mix of emotions.

My eyes flicked to the clock on the nightstand—6 a.m. I had spent the night here. But more than that, I had told him I had feelings for him. I groaned inwardly, mentally kicking myself. "How stupid can you be, Chapa?" I muttered under my breath. Why did I confess so soon? Why did I let myself be so vulnerable with him? I felt exposed, as if I had handed him the power to hurt me without even thinking twice. Last night I probably drank more alcohol than usual. I wasn't drunk, just a bit tipsy.

I glanced around the room, realizing how comfortable I had been, even in my restless state of mind. Bose's bed was incredible—soft, yet firm in all the right places, like it was designed to cradle you to sleep. But as much as I had enjoyed the night's rest, I needed to get out of here, away from the constant reminder of my impulsiveness.

There was no sign of Bose in the bedroom, which was a small relief. I quietly reached for my bag on the nightstand, trying not to make any noise. The last thing I wanted was to have another awkward conversation with him. Slipping out of the bed, I padded softly to the door, opening it just enough to peek into the living room.

Bose was there, sprawled out on the couch. He looked peaceful, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his face softened by sleep. He had given up his bed for me and taken the couch—of course he had. That was so like him. The thought made my heart squeeze a little.

I tiptoed past him, careful not to wake him, and slipped out the front door. The cool morning air hit my face as I walked to the bus stop. I needed the fresh air, something to clear my head from the whirlwind of emotions that were threatening to overwhelm me.

Back at my apartment, I couldn't stop thinking about last night. Despite the self-recrimination, there was a small, stubborn part of me that didn't regret it. His lips had been so soft against mine, and he smelled so good—like a mix of fresh rain and something warm and comforting, maybe sandalwood. And that wet hair of his, dark and slicked back, made him look different. But it wasn't just about how he looked or smelled. There was something in the way he kissed me—slow, deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second. He was a better kisser than I ever imagined, and I hadn't been able to stop myself from sinking into the feeling of being wanted, even if just for that moment.

Realizing how my thoughts were spiraling, I shook my head. "Stop it, Chapa," I told myself firmly. I couldn't afford to let myself get carried away. Not now, not when there was so much at stake.

I decided a shower would help clear my mind. The hot water did wonders, washing away the remnants of last night's confusion. Afterward, I dressed in a black leather jacket over a red with purple top, paired with black baggy jeans and white sneakers. I styled my hair, letting it fall just right, and finished with a spray of deodorant and a touch of my favorite perfume. I needed to feel like myself again, in control and confident.

I caught the bus to the academy, arriving just in time for class. Ms. Ambrose was already talking about the art exhibition, which was happening tomorrow. "Wear something nice and neat," she advised us. "It'll help you sell your art."

I was only half-listening until she mentioned George Davis. The name sent a ripple of excitement through the room. Davis was one of the richest men in our state, a billionaire with a deep passion for art. If he bought one of our pieces, it could be the break of a lifetime. Recognition, success—it would all follow.

The atmosphere in the classroom shifted instantly. Everyone was abuzz, whispering to each other about what this could mean for their careers. Even I couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement. This was a big opportunity, bigger than anything I had ever been part of before.

I tried to focus on the upcoming exhibition, on the chance to make something of myself. But as I sat there, I couldn't fully push away the thoughts of Bose, of last night, of what it all meant. One thing was for sure—my life was about to get a lot more complicated.

Bose POV:

I woke up later than I should have—8 a.m., way past my usual time. I hadn't set an alarm, and now I was paying the price. Groggily, I sat up and rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. My mind immediately went to Chapa. The memories of last night flooded back. I had to see her.

I got up and walked into my bedroom, expecting to find her there, but the bed was empty. The sheets were still a bit tousled, but she was gone. She must have left early. I felt a pang of disappointment, but I shook it off. There was a lot to do today, and I couldn't let myself get too caught up in what had happened—or what hadn't happened—last night.

After a quick shower and throwing on some clothes, I rushed out the door and into my car. By the time I pulled up to work, it was already 8:45 a.m. I hoped I'd see Chapa today. I needed to talk to her, to clear the air between us.

Work was a whirlwind. The entire building was buzzing with activity as everyone prepared for the upcoming art exhibition. It was going to be held in one of the large event spaces adjacent to the lobby—a room designed for exhibitions, concerts, fashion shows, and more. We had three of these spaces. The lobby itself was its own hub of energy, with the reception area, the café, and more all bustling with people.

My office was located at the end of a long hallway that branched off from the lobby. The hallway was slightly elevated, accessed by a small flight of stairs. Just as I settled into my office chair, Bridget, my ever-efficient but sometimes irritating assistant, walked in with the invitation list for the exhibition.

"I've confirmed George Davis's attendance," she announced, handing me the list.

George Davis. The name alone made my heart beat a little faster. This man was a billionaire, one of the most influential art collectors in the state. If he decided to buy a piece from one of our students, it could launch their career into the stratosphere.

"You've done a great job, Bridget," I told her, genuinely impressed.

She gave a small, pleased smile. "Thank you, Mr. O'Brien. I'll make sure everything is ready for tomorrow."

I spent the next hour going over the invitation list, familiarizing myself with the names of those who would be attending. It was important for me to know exactly who would be there—not just for the students, but for the academy's reputation as well.

Just as I finished, Andrew walked in, looking as laid-back and annoyingly stylish as ever. His office was just down the hall from mine, so he often popped in unannounced. Today, he carried an energy that told me something was up.

"Your stepfather emailed me this morning," he said, without even a greeting. "He wants us to organize a big festival in three weeks to promote the academies. He's aiming to showcase the talent of the students, and he's expecting perfection—no mistakes."

He handed me a list of people who would be invited to the event. I sighed inwardly. As if I didn't have enough on my plate already. But I nodded, taking the list from him.

"I'll look into it and start preparing," I said, already mentally organizing the tasks ahead.

But even as I spoke, my mind wasn't fully on work. I kept thinking about Chapa. About last night. About how she'd left without a word this morning. Andrew, always perceptive, noticed my distraction.

"You okay, man? You seem a little out of it today," he said, leaning back in the chair across from my desk.

I hesitated for a moment before replying, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... a lot on my mind."

Andrew raised an eyebrow, then smirked. "Let's grab some coffee at the café. You could use a break."

I agreed, hoping a change of scenery might clear my head. As we walked into the café, I spotted Chapa sitting alone at a small table, sipping her coffee. My heart skipped a beat. I wanted to go sit with her, but I hesitated, unsure if she'd want me to.

Andrew, of course, didn't hesitate. "Isn't that your friend Chapa? She's sitting there all alone," he said, already walking toward her.

I followed reluctantly. I knew Andrew well enough to guess that he was probably planning to tease us. Chapa saw us approaching, and I could tell from her expression that she wasn't thrilled about it. She sighed as we reached her table.

"Don't worry, I won't be talking about you two again," Andrew said with a grin. "Unless, of course, I want to be killed by you."

Chapa gave a half-hearted smile. "Hi, Bose," she said, her voice lacking the usual warmth.

"Hi," I replied, trying to gauge her mood.

"So, are you excited about the art exhibition tomorrow?" Andrew asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Chapa nodded. "Yeah, I also invited Sage, my little sister. She said she wants to see you again, Bose."

My heart sank a little at her words. Sage. I hadn't told Chapa that I'd revealed my secret to Sage—that I was Brainstorm. It had just slipped my mind, but now it felt like another barrier between us.

"That's great," I managed to say, masking my unease. "Did you invite anyone else? Your parents, maybe?"

"Yeah, I invited Miles and Mika," she said, then added with a hint of bitterness, "Not my parents, though. They're busy and don't really care about my art."

I felt a pang of sympathy for her. It was hard to imagine parents being indifferent to their child's passion, but I knew that Chapa's relationship with her family was complicated.

Andrew, ever the instigator, jumped in. "That Mika again? Who's also your childhood friend?" He glanced at me.

Chapa shot him a look. "Yeah, what's up with her? Why do you care?"

Andrew shrugged. "She's just... I don't know, she does everything so—"

"Perfect?" Chapa cut him off, her tone sharp. "We know. She can do everything."

I nodded in agreement, trying to steer the conversation away from what was clearly a sore topic for Chapa. "Yeah, she's good at everything. Is that why you don't like her? Because she's better at things than you?" I ventured, trying to keep the tone light.

Andrew's eyes flashed with irritation. "No, whatever. I just hope I don't see her around at the art exhibition. Before she's going to make it a contest to guess whose art is whose."

Chapa finished her coffee and grabbed her bag, clearly ready to leave. "I should go. I have a lot to do before tomorrow. Bye," she said, and with that, she was gone.

She barely looked at me as she left, and it stung more than I wanted to admit. I wanted to know what was going on in her head, what she was feeling. There was so much unsaid between us, and it was eating me up inside.

Andrew and I grabbed our coffee and headed back to work. But the day dragged on, and I couldn't stop thinking about Chapa. I kept replaying our conversation in the café, trying to read between the lines. I decided to go home and I was so lost in thought that I didn't even notice the time until I saw Chapa walking out of the building at the end of the day.

I quickly picked up my pace to catch up with her. "Hi," I said, trying to sound casual.

"Oh, hi, Bose," she replied, not meeting my eyes.

"Soo... are we going to talk about last night?" I asked, hoping to break through the wall she seemed to be putting up between us.

She stopped walking and finally looked at me. "Do we have to?"

Her words stung, but I kept my voice calm. "Well, I mean, if you're not comfortable with it, no. But you seem distant again, so... it might help."

Chapa's eyes softened slightly, and she let out a small sigh. "I'm not being distant. It might be in your eyes because you maybe want to be with me all the time, but I don't, okay? I need my own time."

Her words hit me harder than I expected. I knew she needed space, but hearing it so bluntly... it hurt. I must have shown it on my face because she quickly added, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, okay? I just have so much on my mind for tomorrow, and I don't even have anything to wear."

I ignored her apology, even though it felt good to hear it. "Let's shop for clothes then," I suggested, hoping to change the subject.

"What?" she replied, clearly confused.

"Let's buy you nice clothes for tomorrow. It's 4:30 p.m., the shops are still open," I said, trying to sound upbeat.

"Thanks, but I don't want to spend my money on new clothes. Not until I've received enough money to do so."

"Then let me pay for it. It's the least I can do for a girl who has... feelings for me," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Chapa shot me a death stare, but I could see the corners of her mouth twitching. "Forget that. I was a bit tipsy and exposed myself too much. For now, let's just go shopping like you said."

I laughed, glad to see her softening a bit. We headed to my car and drove to the city center. I parked near one of the high-end boutiques I frequented. Chapa was eyeing the store with a mix of skepticism and awe.

"Imagine being so rich you can shop for an expensive clothing piece at this expensive shop," she said, laughing.

"Then let's not imagine it anymore and make it reality," I replied, already walking toward the entrance.

She hurried after me, quietly protesting. "We shouldn't go in here, Bose. It's too expensive."

But I ignored her and held the door open. "Don't be too loud in here and don't get angry at people for no reason," I warned playfully.

"Don't tell me what to do!" she snapped, but before she could finish the sentence, I gently placed my hand over her mouth, silencing her. She eventually relented, rolling her eyes.

We wandered around the shop, looking at various dresses. I picked up a light pink dress adorned with diamonds and other intricate embellishments. It was stunning, the kind of dress that would make any woman feel like a queen.

"What about this one?" I asked, holding it up for her to see.

Chapa grimaced. "Bose, I hate pink. I need a darker color."

We continued browsing, and then she spotted a dress. Her eyes lit up as she pulled it off the rack. "I love this one!" she exclaimed.

It was a beautiful dark red gown, long and flowing with a dramatic silhouette. The bodice was intricately designed, with delicate orange and yellow accents that shimmered like flames. The dress had a subtle sheen to it, catching the light just enough to give it an ethereal glow. The skirt flowed down in soft, elegant folds, giving it a timeless, almost regal appearance. It was the kind of dress that could stop traffic.

"That one looks beautiful. Let's buy it," I said, fully prepared to spoil her.

Chapa's excitement faded as she glanced at the price tag. "No, Bose, you can't. It's $12,000."

"So? I can pay for it," I replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"No, I won't let you pay for it. You're not some sort of sugar daddy. I hate being a gold digger," she said, and I couldn't help but laugh at her stubbornness.

"It's okay. You can pay me back later, and it'll encourage you to make better art, to earn more money and success with it," I said, half-joking, but also meaning every word.

She shook her head firmly. "No, I'm not going to do that. Let's just go home. I think I'll find something somewhere."

"Okay," I agreed reluctantly.

"Just let me go to the bathroom really quick." she said.

As she walked away, she called after me, "And don't buy that dress for me while I'm gone. It's ugly, I don't want it."

Yeah, right. A minute ago, she was in love with it. As soon as she was out of sight, I made a beeline for the cashier and purchased the dress. The cashier, a woman I recognized from my previous visits, gave me a knowing smile as she wrapped the dress in a beautiful gift box.

"You got yourself a girlfriend, huh?" she said with a wink.

I chuckled. "No, she's not my girlfriend. Just a really good friend."

She finished wrapping the dress and handed me the box. "If she comes back and asks if you bought it, will you lie and say I didn't?" I asked.

"Of course," she replied with a conspiratorial grin.

Chapa returned from the bathroom and, true to form, immediately asked the cashier if I had bought the dress.

The cashier, bless her, played along. "Nope, he didn't buy anything," she said smoothly.

"Okay, let's go then," Chapa said, not fully convinced but willing to drop it.

We walked back to the car, and when we arrived at her place, I handed her the box. She rolled her eyes before even opening it.

"You didn't," she said, though she clearly suspected I had.

"I did," I replied, unable to keep the grin off my face.

"Please, I can't accept this," she said, shaking her head.

"Okay then, I bought the dress for myself, for fun. And because you're my friend, you can borrow it for tomorrow. Deal?" I said, trying to make it sound as casual as possible.

Chapa looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Bose, don't," she said, her tone serious. But there was something else in her eyes, something that made me think maybe, just maybe, she was touched by the gesture.

She couldn't believe what I'd just done. But I could see the struggle on her face—the conflict between her pride and the part of her that really, truly loved that dress.

And I knew I had her.