Page 19 of The Romance Rivalry

Nine opposites attract

The last thing I want to do right now is meet Aiden in the library to work on our lit project. But we’re halfway through the

semester and haven’t made much progress. In a nutshell, we’re just short of being screwed.

Aiden has never struck me as someone who gets angry. He’s way too unaffected for that. Yet I feel antsy that any day now,

he’ll confront me about my lack of effort on our project and I’ll have to admit that I am dropping the ball. Not only have

I not done any of the reading, I’ve fallen behind on my assigned journal entries, including the ones that have specific prompts

regarding our big project.

And that impacts Aiden as well.

This Intro to Lit course is currently causing my anxiety to go through the roof, thus making it my least favorite class. There’s just so much writing and editing, way more than I expected. I was hoping for more reading and discussing, if I’m being honest.

Oh, and there’s the quickly approaching Parents Day, when my folks will be coming to visit. Of course, there’s also the very

concerning data point that my online account growth has stalled almost completely. And oh yeah, there’s the fact that despite

wasting all this time dating a bunch of turkeys, I still haven’t found a boyfriend.

With SKCupid’s decision looming, I’m pretty certain I won’t be their choice. Heck, if I were them, I’d pick Aiden, too. Which

means no big announcement to get my parents excited about one of my accomplishments. Relegating me back into my siblings’

shadows. But as I’m building a life of my own here at Brighton, a part of me wonders, would that be so bad after all?

At the library, I make my way up to our spot among the old poets. I’m ready to see Aiden, I’m ready to apologize for slacking

off, and most important, I’m ready to work.

What I’m not ready for is seeing Aiden sitting in our seats next to someone else. Her hand rests on his arm and the body language

is unmistakable. She’s leaning into his side. His head bows a little toward her as they talk. I’m interrupting something...

intimate. I’m an intruder.

The sudden pain in my chest makes it hard to breathe. My hands ball into fists of their own accord, and in a panic, I turn on my heels to escape. I don’t want to barge in on them. I can’t stand to see the uncomfortable expressions on their faces as I arrive, making it clear they’d rather be with each other than have to play nice and polite with me. It’s not my business who she is and what they do together behind closed doors, or at the library.

Except when I turn to leave, I run right into a library cart filled with books waiting to be reshelved, knocking it over.

The crash echoes throughout the huge library, and at this moment, I wish for this small little spot of the earth on which

I stand to open up and swallow me whole.

I bend down to gather the books and place them back on the cart. A well-worn pair of sneakers comes up beside me and meets

me on the ground, strong hands reaching for scattered books alongside mine.

“You okay?” Aiden asks.

I look up into curious, concerned eyes. He gives me a small smile, as if letting me know it’s safe, he’s safe, if I want to

talk.

But my mind is a jumbled mess.

I look back over my shoulder to the table where he just was. No one else is there. Great. I scared away his girlfriend.

“Where’d your friend go?” I ask. My face immediately heats. Why did I ask? Why don’t I have the self-preservation skills to

just not say anything at all?

His eyes widen when he realizes I caught him. He shakes his head. “Oh, that’s, um, not a friend.”

“No? You two seemed tight. Is she one of your tropes, then? Looks like you’re gonna end up winning this thing after all. First to fall in love and all that.” I rise to my feet and pull my bag onto my shoulder. I stare at the stairs that lead to the exit.

I look anywhere but at Aiden.

He gently grabs my arm before I can bolt for the doors.

“She’s not a friend.”

I roll my eyes, because he said that already and I heard him, I get it.

He tightens his grip on my arm just slightly enough to get my attention, to pull me from all the conclusions I’m drawing in

my head.

“She’s not more than a friend, either.”

He doesn’t go on, doesn’t elaborate. But his gaze bores into mine, and though I’d rather look anywhere but into his eyes,

I don’t look away. What is he trying to tell me with his eyes that he can’t tell me with his words?

He’s a writer, after all.

Or maybe the message he’s sending me right now is that it’s none of my business.

I clear my throat and pull away. “We should get to work,” I say.

He looks at me for one second longer, then nods and leads the way back to the desks.

I pull out my laptop and open it up. It flickers to life back to where I’d shut the screen down, putting it into sleep mode from earlier.

I take a seat, pull out my glasses, and glance at my phone for any new texts.

“You’re supposed to be working on our lit project, not trolling me online.”

I whip my head around, ready to deny the allegation. But that’s gonna be a little tough, considering his page is right there,

filling my laptop screen. And since he’s leaned over my shoulder, his face is mere inches from mine, hand on the table, crowding

my space. I’ve suddenly lost the ability to speak.

Or breathe, for that matter.

I had been checking a review I posted this morning, wondering how it was performing. The view count had been lower than I

expected. Either the algorithm is starting to bury my posts, or my followers are just not as interested in my content anymore.

But even though I was late leaving for the library, I couldn’t help but do a quick scroll through the comments.

And that’s when I saw it—the now familiar handle @aidentheguyreadsromance .

Great review. I totally agree, this one hit deep. Are you feeling the book hangover like I am?

I stared at the comment. I processed that he used the word “agree” and also asked me a question, like he wanted me to engage with him. That was new. Was it a trap?

So, out of pure curiosity, I pulled up Aiden’s profile and checked if he’d posted a review today, too. It was there, the smiling

face moving just a fraction as a dimple appeared on the cover of the post. The view count was ten times higher than mine.

It felt like everything I had been working for was slipping through my fingers.

I slammed the laptop shut.

I was frazzled and distracted. Otherwise, I would have known better and actually shut my computer off. Or I would have remembered

it was on sleep mode and never risked opening it up here where Aiden could see it.

I open my mouth and close it. I open it again and close it. His eyes follow my lips as I mimic a fish out of water.

He takes pity on me and backs up a little, turning his eyes back to the screen.

“Why are the views on your post so low? Have you been shadowbanned for something?”

I shake my head slowly, trying to think through anything I might have said in the post that would make the algorithm hate

me. “No, I don’t think so. My views have been lower lately. Maybe... maybe it’s time for me to give this all up.” I swallow

back the emotion, the deep sense of loss and grief that even the mere consideration gives me. For the past few years, this

was all I had, the only thing that made me feel like I was worth something.

“Okay, Miss Doom and Gloom, why would you do that? Don’t give up so quickly. Maybe you can switch it up? Try a ‘get ready with me’ or a ‘what I eat in a day.’”

I roll my eyes and then shoot Aiden with a glare.

He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, although he at least has the sense to look sheepish and apologetic.

“Figures you’d say that,” I say. “Have you ever wondered why it’s always women who do those lifestyle-type posts, regardless

of what their niche is? ‘Get ready with me as I read a book.’ ‘Here’s everything I eat in a day in between turning the pages

of my newest novel.’ Not the most compelling content, and yet...” I let the point end itself in the air. “But a guy”—I

wave my hand in his direction—“can just show up all of a sudden, flash dimples, and his views skyrocket, his mailbox is filled

with gifts off his wish list, and his follower count reaches a number that others took years to cultivate.”

“What do you mean? Why are you mad at me?”

“It took me two years to grow my accounts. I put in a lot of work, planning, strategizing to make it successful. To get noticed by large companies who, because of my follower count, might take the romance genre more seriously. Who will take me, someone pretty unremarkable by most other standards, seriously. Consider me someone worth acknowledging, pursuing. But you, a good-looking guy, can just ‘aw shucks, romance is fun to read’ your way on the scene. And with barely even trying, these same companies assume you’d be a better representative for the book community. For romance. It just... doesn’t feel fair.”

“That’s my fault?” He sounds genuinely hurt. “I don’t know what you want me to say or do about that.” He rakes his fingers

through his hair, letting out a deep breath. “Look, first, I didn’t just ‘aw shucks’ my way into this. And second, I’m not

in a position to turn down opportunities just because I’m the new guy.” He looks at me, concerned lines appearing between

his eyes, pleading for me to understand.

No, it’s not his problem. It’s society’s problem. It’s the system. And I honestly don’t want to dig too deeply into the whys.

Because if I do, I’m going to find a lot of other issues down in that ditch along with it: internalized misogyny, racism,

bias, classism. All the things that communities, even online ones, deal with. And the stuff I usually try to not think about

behind the mask of “just wanting to read romance books.” Maybe that makes me the problem.

I let myself look over all of Aiden’s handsome face. It’s possible I’ve been wrong about him. That there’s more to him, something

deeper that drives him. He’s his own kind of book to be read ...

“Besides, I shouldn’t have to apologize for dimple privilege,” he adds. His smile stretches slowly until said dimples make

their appearance. And just like that, situation defused.

I roll my eyes again, but my smile won’t stay hidden in response.

Dork.

I reach into my backpack and take out the books for our lit class as a way to change the subject.

“Sorry to lecture you about society’s ills. I’m just stressed about a lot of stuff.” I lift up Pride and Prejudice , its well-worn pages and slightly torn cover signifying that this library copy has been much-handled. “And this just happens

to be one of those things.”

Aiden’s eyes soften, and he reaches for the book.

He was worried that picking Austen’s most popular book to compare against a contemporary counterpart would be too obvious

a choice. But since we’re likely the only team that chose romance novels, it ended up feeling like the right call. Plus, it

forces me to finally read Austen. Once I actually get around to opening the book instead of picking something much more interesting

from my Tbr.

“Did I ever tell you this was the first romance novel I ever read?” he asks.

I turn to look at him as he flips through the pages of the library book, eyes wide and bright as if treasure exists inside

it.

“After I finished reading a few Austen novels, I wanted to find books that gave me that same feeling. Romance, yes. But also

hope. Joy. The belief that there’s something in this world that can conquer all.”

“Is that why you started the online social media stuff?? To talk about the books? Because that’s why I did it. I had so much emotion brewing inside me about these books, I knew I wanted to just find someone, anyone, who I could talk to about it. So I talked to my camera, hoping people who felt the same way would find me. And maybe those who didn’t feel the same way would somehow give it a chance.” Heat rises to my cheeks from the embarrassment of sharing so much.

“Yeah. I mean, initially, I convinced myself I only wanted to talk about craft, me being an aspiring writer and all. But honestly,

it was more the emotions that I wanted to talk about, to explore with people. Sadly, people in my English class at my school

weren’t that interested in talking feelings. And I didn’t feel like I could just shoot the shit with my stoic, science-brained

brother or really any of my buddies about it. You know, there’s a stigma about guys who read, let alone guys who read romance

novels. So, like you, I went online, talked to a camera. It kinda just took off and became this whole... thing... that

had a mind of its own.” He stares into the book, but it’s clear he’s lost in his own thoughts. I give him the moment.

Because I think I know how he feels. A simple desire to talk about the thing that you love and find a community who shares

that love. But it grows into something much more. And brings with it a life that you might not have been prepared for, with

all its good... and its bad.

He shakes his head as if clearing his thoughts, bringing him back to me, here in the library. “It’s been a blessing in disguise, though. Without the revenue and sponsorships from my channel, I wouldn’t have been able to afford coming to Brighton.”

My eyebrows shoot up. It’s true, there’s a lot of money to be had for some in this online space. I’ve been fortunate enough

to do pretty well and save up some for my future. But if Aiden is funding his own college education, he’s got to be doing

better than I am.

Or maybe that’s why he wants this brand deal so much.

He senses my eyes fixed on him and turns his head to meet my gaze. He laughs. “What? Do I have something on my face?” He rubs

his cheek.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. I was just doing the internal math, I guess.”

“You really make everything into a competition when it comes to our channels, don’t you? Can’t we both exist in the space?

Throw me a bone, okay? I don’t want beef. I need my online presence to continue to grow and do well.”

“Why’s it so important to you?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes like what he’s about to say is just nonsense. Which makes me think that it’s actually one of the most important things he’ll ever share with me. “I’m basically on my own.” His voice is light, easy-breezy. Too light. Too easy-breezy. I want to reach over and touch his arm, but I tuck my hand under my leg instead, forcing it to stay near me.

“Your parents...” I leave the question hanging in the air.

“I’m a Korean cliché. My mom’s a doctor. My dad’s a doctor. My older brother?” He lifts his brows at me, inviting me to finish

the thought.

“Let me guess... a doctor?” I try to smile, but it comes out small, sympathetic.

“Tell her what she’s won!” he jokes. “Anyways, that was always the expectation on me. But I was the kid in the corner reading

books. And then writing stories I made up in my head. Being a writer, however, was not in the future-professions-for-Korean-kids

manual. It wasn’t until I started reading romance novels and seeing these stories about how a lot of these authors used to

have really incredibly impressive careers as lawyers, doctors, neuroscientists—heck, even politicians—and eventually chose

to be writers instead that I had the courage to say I wanted to be a writer. And when my channel took off, and the money started

coming in, I finally believed it could be a reality for me.”

Something shifts in my heart right at this moment. I’m not quite sure what it is, but I know it’s monumental. Like the last

remaining scales that hid the entirety of Aiden Jeon from me have fallen off. And I know I’m in deep shit.

“That’s”—I swallow back the lump of emotion forming in my throat—“incredible, Aiden.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so. My parents were, as expected, completely unimpressed. I was to stop this immediately. But honestly,

I don’t think I could stop writing even if I tried. And then they resorted to the threats. I’d be disowned if I didn’t go

to med school. Financially cut off. No longer a member of this family.” He says this in a deep, serious voice, mocking whoever

it was that told him this news. His eyes close for one second, tight, brow furrowed.

This time I don’t stop myself. I reach out and lay my hand on his forearm. I squeeze gently.

When he opens them, he straightens his back as if fortifying himself. I pull my hand away.

“So if ever anyone questions my Gen Z status, here I am, living off my internet earnings, estranged from my family, studying

to be a broke and tortured writer one day.” He turns to look at me. “And that is why I’m gonna beat you in this competition.”

The words are ominous, but he says them with such levity.

But if I win, if I fall in love first, he has to give up his online presence, the source of his income. My face must give

away the horror of this realization.

“Oh no, no you don’t. You don’t get to feel sorry for me or worry about what it means if you beat me.” He laughs. “Plus, I have no intention of losing and every intention of falling in love first. Look, I’ve got enough financial aid from the government to cover this year, so don’t worry. That’s who I was talking to earlier. My financial aid advisor. She was going over the forms for me to already start applying for next year’s funds.”

“Wait, the girl who was basically embracing you earlier is your financial aid advisor?” I scrunch my nose. That doesn’t seem

very appropriate.

“Embracing me? What? I think maybe she put her hand on my arm to tell me to relax when I was getting frustrated. I have trouble

reading some kinds of things, like long forms and odd formatting, so I was getting riled up. She just wanted me to slow down

and work my way through it.”

I recall Aiden mentioning that he had struggled with reading my reaction emoji in our texts. It starts to make sense. My brother,

Eugene, has a similar struggle. After having a hard time in his early years of school, and being branded as a troubled kid,

he was finally diagnosed with dyslexia. He was able to start getting the help and support he needed, and everything changed

for him. I wonder if Aiden was able to get the same kind of help. It would be cool if I could get Aiden to talk to Eugene

so my little brother can see that someone can succeed despite having some challenges with reading.

But I don’t want to make assumptions. And since Aiden hasn’t actually shared any of the details with me, I don’t think it’s

right to ask right now.

I feel a physical pull in myself, a stretching, like I’m making room for all this information Aiden is sharing with me about himself.

Aiden, the writer, going against his parents’ expectations and wishes.

Aiden, the self-made man, trying to finance his education and his future.

Aiden, the reader, whose brilliant mind struggles with forms and formatting but can plow through the density of Austen like

it’s nothing.

“Aiden, I think we should forget the competition altogether. I was basically just saying I might want to step back from my

book review stuff anyways. I’m struggling to keep my head afloat...” I stop myself from sharing too much. It’s probably

already obvious—we’re partners in a class together. But I barely admit my struggles to myself. It’s nearly impossible to share

them with other people.

“No,” he says. That one word feels like it echoes through the entire library and down into my bones. “We have to see this

through to the end. We have to fall in love.”

I’ve never seen or heard Aiden this serious, this adamant. The angles of his face even seem to shift. I don’t point out that

there’s a very good chance at least one of us is not finding love from this competition, and I’m pretty sure that’s going

to be me.

I nod and make a mental note for us to have this conversation later.

“Okay, okay, fine,” I say. For now.

“Anyways”—I reach over to pick up Pride and Prejudice —“back to the book. You know how people love to see themselves in a novel? I have a feeling that reading about poor, unremarkable

Charlotte Lucas, who marries an awfully dull man for money and not love, despite not even being his first choice whatsoever,

will be like looking in a mirror,” I joke.

“Hey, that’s the second time today you’ve referred to yourself as ‘unremarkable,’ and I’m calling bullshit.”

I shake my head and shrug. “Middle-child syndrome, impostor syndrome, only-at-Brighton-to-make-my-parents-happy syndrome.

That’s all. Anyways... back to the book...”

I jump a little as Aiden’s hand covers mine. I try to pull mine away. I don’t do sympathy comfort well. But he wraps his fingers

around my hand.

I swallow.

The heat creeping up my neck is not attraction. It’s humiliation. Aiden may have opened up and shared with me. But I did not

intend to do the same with him.

Aiden gives my hand a squeeze and smiles. “Look at you finally reading Austen,” he whispers, dimples finally making an appearance,

letting me off the hook.

I lean in and whisper back, “I saw the movie, the 1995 version.”

He shakes his head and laughs. “You’re missing all the best parts if you don’t read the book. Promise me you’ll do it. If for nothing else than the fact that our grade in lit depends on it.” I know he’s joking, but I hear the tinge of concern in his voice.

I’m letting him down. I’m letting myself down. Worst of all, I’m letting my parents down. I swear to myself that I’ll try

harder.

“I promise,” I say.

“You know what’s funny?” Aiden asks. “Me being here at Brighton is basically a ‘fuck you’ to my parents. And you being here

at Brighton is the best thing that could ever happen to yours. We’re pretty much complete opposites.”

It’s true. Aiden and I couldn’t be further apart, opposites in so many ways.

So why, then, is he starting to feel like someone I’m growing closer to and can relate to more and more each day?