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EPISODE 20 — Crossed Lines
Layla POV
The morning after lunch with Ethan was quieter than I expected. Chloe and Mia had returned to the dorm while I was still processing the heat of our time together, the lingering touch of his fingers on mine and the gravity of the small world we had carved out over that meal. They didn't ask questions, didn't pry—just laughed at a random meme Mia had found online and continued unpacking their things. It was ordinary, and that ordinariness made my thoughts of Ethan all the sharper.
I perched on the edge of my bed, sketchbook open but untouched, pen hovering as my mind replayed every detail. The curve of his smile as he spoke softly, the deliberate tension in his movements, the way his eyes had tracked mine even when the quad bustled around us. None of it felt like a memory; it was more like a shadow I carried with me, brushing against my ribs whenever I moved.
Chloe nudged me with her elbow, breaking my spiraling thoughts. "You've been staring at that blank page for ten minutes, Ly. Something on your mind?"
I forced a smile. "Just… thinking."
"About him?" Mia asked, voice calm but curious, as if she'd been expecting the answer. Her sketchbook rested across her lap, but her gaze was sharper than her pencil.
I laughed softly, nervous. "Maybe a little."
Chloe grinned knowingly. "We saw the way you both walked out of the quad. You're practically glowing. Don't tell me you're trying to hide that from us."
I shrugged, leaning back against the headboard. "It's not like anyone asked me to glow."
The dorm was warm, the morning sunlight spilling in across scattered clothes and books, the usual chaos of three girls living together. Yet beneath that ordinary comfort, I felt a pulse of unease. Rumors were beginning to stir.
I had caught a few glances in the hallway earlier—students whispering behind hands, heads turning when I passed. Nothing direct, just a brush of awareness that someone was talking. Small, subtle, yet it prickled in the back of my neck. And I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't just idle chatter. Someone was watching. Someone knew more than they should.
I pushed the thought aside and focused on getting ready. Classes wouldn't wait for my anxieties, and I needed to keep my footing in reality, not just in memories of Ethan. Chloe left for her seminar early, bounding down the hall with her usual energy, leaving Mia and me to our own devices.
By the time I reached the quad, I saw him before he saw me. Ethan leaned casually against the edge of the fountain, headphones draped around his neck, one hand scrolling through his phone. The sun caught the angle of his jaw, and I felt a familiar pull, a tension I couldn't mask.
"Hey," I called softly, and he looked up, eyes lighting in that way that made everything else fade.
"Layla," he replied, voice low, casual, though his posture straightened imperceptibly. He tucked his phone into his pocket. "Didn't expect to see you this early."
"I had a class canceled," I said, moving closer. "Thought I'd enjoy some fresh air before the library gets crowded."
He nodded, brushing a hand over his hair, fingers raking back strands he hadn't noticed had fallen into place. "Good call."
We walked together, side by side, the rhythm of our steps easy but charged, a private current running between us that made the chatter of other students blur into background noise.
"Have you heard anything… odd?" I asked, testing the water. "Rumors? Gossip?"
He glanced at me sharply, brow knitting. "Depends on what you mean."
"Just… whispers. Something feels off. People looking, talking in hushed tones." My voice lowered, careful. I couldn't shake the notion that someone was gauging our next moves, reading the spaces we left open.
Ethan's lips pressed into a thin line. "You mean the campus murmurs? I've noticed it too." He paused, lowering his voice further. "Marcus has been quiet about anything urgent, so maybe it's nothing. Or maybe it's the usual student chatter. But… I'd keep an eye out."
I nodded, but the flutter in my chest tightened. The tension wasn't from schoolwork or lectures—it was the invisible presence of someone pulling strings from the shadows, someone who could destabilize us without ever showing their face.
We settled on a quiet bench near the fountain, a space that felt removed from the usual traffic, the air cool against our skin. Ethan's gaze lingered, warm and piercing, and I realized I hadn't really exhaled since the morning began.
"I didn't sleep much last night," I admitted quietly, tracing the edge of the bench with a fingertip. "Not because I was worried about classes or anything… just… thinking."
He reached over, thumb brushing the back of my hand. The contact was deliberate, grounding. "About me?"
I let a small laugh escape. "Partly."
He shifted, leaning slightly closer, careful not to overstep. "Partly, huh?"
"Mostly," I admitted, and the air between us seemed to hum.
We talked for a long while, weaving between mundane observations—professors, projects, campus gossip—and the small, intimate threads of our connection. Every glance, every subtle brush of fingers, carried a gravity that didn't need words. The intensity of our relationship had been distilled over months, sharpened by secrecy, and complicated by the knowledge of eyes that could pierce through our ordinary moments.
When Ethan spoke of Marcus checking in quietly on campus chatter, I felt both reassured and uneasy. Marcus's presence was invisible but crucial, an anchor we trusted without questioning. It reminded me how fragile our bubble really was.
A sudden laughter near the fountain caught our attention, a group of students noticing us and whispering something to each other. Ethan's jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he didn't move. He let the moment pass, choosing calm over confrontation. I admired him for it but felt the weight of exposure settling like a stone in my chest.
"You're always… calm," I said finally, letting my observation slip. "Even when people stare, even when something feels… wrong."
He shrugged, small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Not calm. Careful. It's a difference. You learn it fast when you realize someone can ruin everything with a few clicks."
I looked down at our intertwined fingers, the simple contact magnified by everything we'd been through. The world outside might be chaotic, but for a few minutes, it felt contained, like we had carved out a corner that belonged solely to us.
I noticed him glance at the quad, then back at me, a flicker of something unreadable passing in his expression. "You don't know who's watching, do you?"
I shook my head, reluctant to admit that the feeling of being observed was almost a constant thrum under my skin. "I… I think I have an idea someone is. But I don't know… who, or why."
Ethan nodded, expression darkening slightly. "Neither do I. But Marcus is tracking everything quietly. No panic, no alerts unless necessary. That's how we'll handle it."
I took a deep breath, letting his words settle. Marcus had always been the steady hand behind the scenes, but this time the stakes felt different. The whispers in the quad weren't just gossip—they were carefully measured, purposeful. The anonymous presence behind them was patient, watching, and deliberate.
I felt the need to speak anyway. "Do you think… the person who started this… will escalate?"
He paused, thumb brushing mine again, deliberate and slow. "Maybe. But we'll cross that line when we have to. For now… we're careful, we're together, and we stay in control."
Control. The word lingered in my mind like a mantra. In the months since the first video had surfaced, we had learned that control was fleeting, fragile, and precious. Both videos had been wiped, thanks to Marcus and Ethan's careful orchestration. Yet the threat of the mysterious figure remained—a subtle pulse at the edges of our days. The danger wasn't the footage anymore. It was the intention behind it.
We lingered on the bench longer than necessary, leaning into the quiet, sharing small touches—fingertips brushing, shoulders nudging—without needing to speak aloud the tension coiled tight between us. Every stolen glance, every breath caught in the chest, was a claim, a tether, a silent acknowledgment that despite everything, we belonged in this moment.
Eventually, the chatter of other students, the distant clanging of a lecture bell, and the warmth of the afternoon reminded us we couldn't stay suspended forever.
"Walk me back to the dorm?" I asked softly, voice almost shy in contrast to the assertive current of my mind.
He nodded. "Of course."
The walk was deliberate but silent at first, each step a measured beat, letting the sun fall across our faces. I could feel the pull of his presence, the weight of his hand near mine even when we didn't touch. And when our fingers brushed, a small, deliberate squeeze confirmed what we already knew: proximity was a conversation, intimacy was a dialogue, and we were fluent in both.
By the time we reached the dorm, Chloe and Mia were sprawled across the common area, laughing over a movie trailer they had queued. The normalcy of it contrasted sharply with the charged undercurrent of my morning. I said a soft goodbye to Ethan, our hands brushing briefly, lingering just enough to make departure difficult.
As the door closed behind him, I exhaled, letting the tension roll off my shoulders. The day stretched ahead—classes, projects, and subtle whispers—but I felt, for the first time in a long while, a solid thread of confidence. The threat remained, the mystery lingered, but Ethan's hand in mine reminded me that we weren't alone. Not anymore.
And if someone was watching, I was ready.
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