The breeze stirred the dry leaves near our feet as silence stretched between us. The bench we shared behind the library suddenly felt smaller, more confining. I glanced sideways at Reggie, who didn't say a word more. It was unlike him—to actually obey.
Then, slowly, he moved closer. I didn't stop him. His hand reached out and gently wrapped around my fist, his palm warm and broad, almost swallowing mine completely. His thumb brushed lightly across the back of my hand, a small gesture that held far too much weight.
We now sat side by side.
This is uncomfortable, I thought. Too close. Too quiet. Too much.
He turned to face me, his voice low, strained but determined.
"Vanya, please… let me in."
I didn't respond. My face remained blank.
The fire in his eyes was almost unbearable to look at. It wasn't the kind of fire that destroyed—it was the kind that melted ice. Slowly. Painfully. And part of me feared what would happen if I let that fire reach the parts of me I'd sealed off long ago.
Still, I stared straight ahead. Unmoved. Unreachable.
This wasn't his first attempt. Not the first time he'd tried to reach me, to peel back the layers I'd carefully constructed over years of silence and self-preservation. But something about his voice today felt heavier—like he wasn't just trying for me anymore. Like he was reaching out for himself too.
He took my hand and turned it gently, his eyes falling on the small scar just beginning to fade on my wrist. A delicate crescent. A silent testimony to yesterday night when Mom's nails had dug into my skin before her departure.
"She did it again," he whispered, more to himself than to me. His voice trembled with restrained fury. "She did this to you."
My body stiffened.
Without thinking, I snatched my hand back as though his touch burned me.
"Who did what?" I said coldly, standing up so abruptly the bench creaked under the shift.
My phone slipped into my pocket—my shield. I pulled down my sleeve like it could hide what he'd already seen, what everyone always failed to see.
"Vanya—" He stood too. "Let me help you. Please. Talk to me. Let me—"
"I suggest you stay in your lane and shut your running mouth," I cut him off, my voice sharp but toneless.
His mouth parted slightly, stunned. That carefree smirk he usually wore was gone. What replaced it was twisted—confusion, hurt, and something deeper. Something raw. Dangerous.
I turned and walked away, each step deliberate. Not because I wanted him to follow, but because I knew he would.
Behind me, I could feel his frustration rise like steam. Heavy and bitter. But I didn't look back. I couldn't.
I needed distance. I needed control.
I needed silence.
But just as I rounded the corner of the library and the weight in my chest began to loosen, I sensed it.
A presence.
Not Reggie.
Something colder. Watching.
Unseen by either of us, from the shadow of a wide oak tree, someone stepped forward. They'd been there the whole time. Hidden. Listening. Recording.
Phone in hand. Screen glowing. Camera lens reflecting a sliver of the midday sun.
Their face was obscured beneath the hood of their school jacket. They didn't move fast—just deliberate, quiet steps in the opposite direction, disappearing into the thicket behind the library garden.
Gone. But not before capturing everything.
—
"Where were you at lunch? I was looking all over the place," Nia said, nudging me as I slipped into my seat for the next class.
"Reading in the library," I replied curtly, already pulling out my textbook. My tone, flat as ever.
"Mmmhmm," she drawled suspiciously. "Well, let me know next time you vanish like that. I was two seconds away from dragging the principal into a manhunt."
I nodded faintly, not in the mood for her dramatics.
But Nia leaned closer and whispered, her voice thick with curiosity and something almost giddy.
"So… are you perhaps in an entanglement with the hot captain of the basketball team?"
I blinked. "What?"
She gave me that mischievous smirk, the one that always preceded chaos. "Don't give me that look. This is what you should hold responsible."
She raised her phone and shoved the screen in my face.
A photo.
A grainy shot of Reggie holding my hand, sitting impossibly close to me behind the library, his eyes locked on mine with a look so intense it felt intimate.
My stomach dropped.
"No…" I breathed. My fingers went cold.
No wonder people had been looking at me funny when I walked into class. The whispering. The lingering stares. The slight hush that followed me down the hall.
I had felt it. I knew something was off.
Was this Reggie's doing? Had he shared it? No. No, he wouldn't.
Would he?
Before I could respond, the teacher walked in and class began. But the questions in my head didn't stop.
I couldn't focus. The room buzzed faintly in the background while my mind spiraled.
And then—
A chill.
That same sensation again. The invisible touch of a stare pressed against my back. Unmoving. Sharp.
Someone was watching me.
Not Reggie. Not Nia.
But someone else.
I turned subtly to glance around, but all I saw were classmates—some talking, some scribbling, some yawning.
But I felt it.
A pair of eyes that didn't blink.
Who was looking at me?
And more importantly…
Why?