THE HOOK BEGINS

SNOW'S POV

He started texting me after that night .

Not often. Not consistently.

But enough.

Just… enough to make my chest tighten every time his name flashed on my screen.

Ian:

“That soda you spilled on me? Still sticky.”

Me:

“Buy a new shirt then.”

Ian:

“Or you could come over and lick it off.”

I rolled my eyes. But I replied.

I always replied.

Then came the memes. A mix of dark humor and flirty gifs. Followed by voice notes late at night. His voice rough, lazy, slightly drunk.

And sometimes....he’d just send a song. No caption. No explanation.

I’d put on my headphones, lie in the dark, and wonder if he listened to the same one thinking of me.

Then the midnight visits started.

The first time, I thought I was dreaming. A soft tap tap at my window. I froze, heart racing.

I peeked through the curtain…

And there he was.

Ian.

In that leather jacket, his helmet hanging from one hand, eyes wild and beautiful.

He grinned, held up a finger to his lips. “Shhh. Your mom still hates me, right?”

I slid the window open slowly. “What are you doing here?”

He leaned close, voice low and intoxicating. “Wanna go for a drive?”

I didn’t even grab my shoes. I just climbed out the window barefoot and followed him.

I always went.

Even when he smelled like some other girl’s perfume. When lip gloss smudges stained his collar.

Even when I knew......I knew......I wasn’t the only one.

But with me…

He was different.

................

We didn’t always talk in the car.

Sometimes we just sat in silence, the engine purring, his hand resting on the gearshift… close, so close to mine.

The first time we parked by the cliffs, he handed me a chocolate bar and said, “Don’t say I never give you anything.”

I laughed. “Wow. So romantic.”

He raised a brow. “You don’t like chocolate?”

“I do. But I like flowers more.”

“Too messy,” he said. “They die fast.”

He looked at me then, really looked. “You don’t seem like the flower type anyway.”

“What type am I then?”

He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet.

“The type that stays even when she knows she shouldn’t.”

I flinched.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Snow,” he said suddenly, softer now. “You think I don’t see it? The way you look at me?”

“I don’t look at you in any way,” I lied, my voice was too sharp, too quick.

He laughed, low and throaty. “You look at me like I’m something to be saved.”

My throat tightened. “Maybe I just like driving at night.”

“Liar.”

He turned away, resting his arm against the wheel, staring out at the darkness ahead.

“You want to fix me,” he whispered. “They all do. But you..” He paused. “You’re just better at pretending you don’t.”

“Ian…”

He glanced at me. “You think I don’t know I’m fucked up?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

He reached over then, gently taking my hand. His thumb brushed over the ring I always wore....my mom’s old one.

And just like that… he let me in.

Into his silence. Into the quiet cracks he never showed anyone else.

Another night, he said:

“You know I don’t believe in love, right?”

I nodded. “I know.”

He looked at me like he was waiting for me to argue. When I didn’t, he smirked.

“You’re weird.”

“You’re worse.”

He laughed, genuine and unguarded, and I felt it in my bones.

I thought maybe… just maybe…

I’d be the one to fix him.

But even then, deep down—I knew.

Boys like Ian didn’t get fixed.

They only break the ones who try.

And yet… I stayed. Because for a few fleeting moments, in the middle of the night, under stars and shadows, he was mine.

And that was enough.

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