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Episode 22 – Whispers in the Quad
Layla POV
The morning had a way of feeling heavier than the night. Even though the sun had risen over Avalon University, painting the quad in warm golds and pinks, I carried a subtle weight on my chest—something that wasn't quite anxiety, but a heightened awareness that made me notice things I might have ignored on any ordinary day. Chloe and Mia had already left for their morning classes, each greeting me with a sleepy wave and teasing smiles before vanishing down the hall, their laughter fading into the distance. I stayed behind, sipping from the thermos of coffee I'd prepared, letting the quiet of our shared dorm linger around me.
I kept my phone in hand, scrolling absentmindedly through messages, though none were urgent. Ethan's last text had been brief, almost casual: "See you later? Maybe library?" Just like that, a small tremor of anticipation fluttered in my chest. Even the simplest mention of seeing him was enough to reset my focus entirely.
By the time I was dressed and ready to leave, the campus was alive in the gentle chaos of mid-morning: students hurrying across paths, laughing and calling across quads, laptops in backpacks, music occasionally spilling from someone's earbuds. The fountain at the center glinted in the sunlight, water dancing in lazy arcs. I found myself walking toward it, more by instinct than purpose, hoping, perhaps foolishly, that he might already be there.
He wasn't.
Instead, the quad seemed unusually attentive. Or maybe it was just me. I noticed heads turning ever so slightly, glances lingering too long in my direction. A group of students lounging near the steps glanced at me, then looked away, but not before a couple of them exchanged a whisper or a laugh. The feeling crawled along my spine: subtle, uncomfortable, but familiar enough to make me tense.
I shook it off. Don't be paranoid, I told myself, though even as I repeated it, my eyes caught the flutter of a folded piece of paper on the bench near the fountain. Nothing else around it seemed remarkable—no one watching, no pen or bag left nearby. Just the paper, the edges slightly curled as if it had been there a while.
Curiosity won. I approached and picked it up. The handwriting was small, precise, careful, almost clinical. My fingers brushed the surface as I unfolded it.
"Stay away from him. He's not for you."
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. I knew, of course, that Marcus had warned us months ago—through Ethan—that there were students who thrived on chaos, who had no regard for discretion, who found satisfaction in stirring tension from shadows. But the note's existence, the deliberate placement—it wasn't a repost or a viral clip. It was…personal.
I looked around. The quad still moved in normal rhythms, laughter bouncing across the green lawns. Nobody was looking at me, I reasoned. And yet, the paper in my hand felt like a whisper in my ear, a soft but unrelenting reminder that someone was watching, waiting.
My mind raced, though I tried to slow it, pace it. I folded the note carefully, sliding it into my pocket. My steps toward the library became measured, calculated. I refused to let a single anonymous student—or anyone—dictate my sense of peace.
When I arrived, the library was almost empty. Only a few students sat scattered among the tables, headphones on, absorbed in laptops or textbooks. I spotted Ethan immediately, hunched over a spreadsheet or notebook I couldn't quite see from my angle. His hair fell loosely over his forehead, glasses sliding slightly as he scribbled. Even from a distance, the familiar tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes, told me he was focused, but also anticipating something—or someone.
I approached quietly, sliding into the chair opposite him. He looked up, and that half-smile, just enough to make my heart stutter, appeared.
"Hey," he said softly, closing his notebook.
"Hey," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. The note burned in my pocket like a live coal, but I wasn't going to pull it out just yet. Not with him watching, reading me like he always did.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed casually. "You're late."
"Traffic in the quad," I teased lightly, though my gaze was scanning for shadows, for anything out of place. "Or maybe the universe wanted me to notice something first."
His eyebrows lifted. "Oh?"
I shrugged. "Maybe."
He chuckled softly, leaning forward, hands resting on the table. "You've got that look again. The one that says you've seen something…or someone."
I felt a chill despite the warmth of the morning. "Maybe."
He reached across the table, brushing my hand gently. It was nothing overt, just a touch, but it was grounding. "Hey. Whatever it is, we'll handle it. Together."
I wanted to believe him, wanted to anchor my nerves in the certainty of his presence. "I hope so."
The library, for a moment, felt like our own world. No quad, no whispers, no students lurking in corners. Just us, the quiet hum of air-conditioning, the soft scratching of pens on paper.
We talked then, drifting easily between class schedules, upcoming projects, and the minor details of campus life. Ethan's attention to practicalities fascinated me—he had a way of breaking things down, organizing chaos, almost like he could impose order on anything. My mind wandered, though, back to the note, to the feeling of being observed.
"Do you ever feel like…someone's always one step ahead?" I asked, finally voicing the thought that had gnawed at me.
He paused, fingers tapping lightly on the tabletop. "Sometimes. But we can't live there, in that space. It's exhausting, and it doesn't help. We deal with what we know, what we see. Not shadows we can't prove exist."
I nodded, but inside I felt the tension knotting tighter. "I found something on the quad. A note. No one around. Just…this message."
He frowned, leaning slightly closer. "Show me."
I hesitated, then pulled the folded note from my pocket. He took it carefully, reading it twice, lips pressed in a thin line.
"That's…intense," he murmured. "Someone is trying to make us nervous, and clearly, they've been watching closely. Classic obsession. Clever enough to know how to get under your skin."
I shivered slightly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Do you think it's…dangerous?"
He considered this for a long moment, eyes meeting mine. "Not physically, maybe. But emotionally? Definitely. Whoever wrote that feels territorial. They want control. We need to stay aware."
I leaned back, letting the tension ebb just enough to breathe. "Territorial…got it."
He smiled faintly. "Exactly."
The conversation drifted naturally then, our voices soft but intentional. We spoke of classes, mutual friends, minor campus gossip. Nothing specific to the note. Yet, the undercurrent was undeniable—every glance, every brush of our hands across the table, hinted at the intimacy that had grown steadily since that night I stayed over.
At one point, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead, and the touch lingered just a moment too long. My stomach flipped, and I smiled without realizing it. "You know, you have a habit of doing that," I said.
"Doing what?"
"Making it impossible to focus on anything but…this," I replied, gesturing vaguely between us.
He chuckled softly, leaning back. "Well, good. That's my job, then."
There was a pause. Comfortable, charged, unspoken. Neither of us needed to fill it with words. The world outside—the quad, the whispers, the anonymous note—was temporarily irrelevant. We existed in the small sphere of conversation, laughter, and touch.
Eventually, I stood, stretching lightly. "I should get to class. You?"
He glanced at his watch, then at me. "Same. But I'll find you later, maybe before the seminar. Library, maybe?"
I nodded. "Okay."
He rose too, gathering his notebook. "And, Layla…" He paused, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Keep your eyes open. But…don't let it ruin your day."
I returned his smile, though my mind buzzed with thoughts of the note and the subtle threats it represented. "I'll try," I said.
As we left the library together, the sunlight now full and bright on the quad, our conversation shifted naturally, lightly, as though the note had never existed. We spoke about an upcoming group project, our professors' quirks, even a brief joke about the coffee machine that never worked properly. It was grounding. Normalcy in a world that sometimes felt too vigilant, too observant.
Still, as we walked side by side, I couldn't shake the feeling of unseen eyes, of whispers hidden beneath casual glances. I pocketed the thought, though, burying it beneath the warmth of our shared steps, the quiet intimacy of conversation, and the fleeting touch of his hand brushing mine.
And that's how we left it, walking toward our separate classes, the quad alive with movement, laughter, and sunlight. A conversation that began with subtle tension ended with the comforting cadence of shared presence. Nothing unresolved in words, yet everything left open, awaiting the next encounter.
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