She woke up with the light already high outside the window.
For a few seconds she stayed still, eyes still closed, not thinking about anything in particular. Then she slowly turned onto her side and stared at the ceiling. The silence of the room was steady, almost familiar. There was no urgency. Nothing that had to happen right away.
Only one thing came back to her mind, plain and direct.
Exams.
She sat up on the bed and ran a hand over her face. It wasn't real anxiety. More a constant awareness, like a thought that stays in the background even when you try to ignore it.
She got up.
The apartment was already awake, but not noisy. That kind of morning when everything runs without drawing attention.
In the kitchen she made herself something to eat without thinking too much. Slow, habitual movements. Bread, something to drink, her phone lying on the table lighting up every now and then without her really looking at it.
She sat down. And started studying.
The first hours passed without weight. The pages in front of her were full, but organized. Highlighters, notes in the margins, diagrams overlapping concepts she'd already read a thousand times.
From the next room came a few light sounds. The TV on at low volume. A glass set down on the table. Footsteps.
He was there. She couldn't see him, but she knew.
And it didn't seem important to her. Not yet.
Later she headed to the university. The hallway was crowded, but not overly so. That controlled chaos of ordinary days, where everyone seems to have a destination but no one is really stopping.
In the library she sat with her friends.
"I can't study this much anymore," said one, leaning back in her chair.
"Not much left," another answered, flipping through her notes.
She smiled slightly, without joining in right away.
Then she opened her notebook.
Studying together made everything lighter, even when they weren't really talking. Every now and then a comment, a pause, a brief laugh that didn't break the silence but softened it.
She wrote, listened, then went back to writing.
In those moments she was completely inside what she was doing.
Or at least she tried.
When they left the library, the sun was already lower. They stopped at the university café.
Coffee, chatting, chairs scraping the floor.
"After this I'm not opening a single book until exams," said one of her friends.
"Sure you're not," another answered right away, laughing.
She smiled, but her gaze kept drifting outside for no real reason.
She wasn't looking for him.
It just happened.
Later, as they headed back, she noticed him.
He was standing near the exit of the building. With the boy she often saw with him. They were talking. Or rather - the other one talked, he didn't.
Then he stopped. One precise moment. As always. And turned. Walked away.
She said nothing. Not right away.
She kept walking with her friends, nodding at something she hadn't really listened to.
Only after a few seconds did she speak, almost absently:
"What time is it?"
"6:00."
"Always the same time!"
"What?"
"Nothing... never mind."
And she smiled.
But her gaze had stayed behind.
That evening she studied again. More slowly. Less focused. Not because she didn't want to, but because every now and then she'd stop without noticing. Her pen would hover above the page. Her eyes fixed on a line she wasn't really reading. Then she'd start again.
When she finished, it was late.
On the couch he was there. TV on. Cold light on his face.
She walked by, then stopped.
"Tomorrow's exams."
"I know."
The answer came immediately. No emphasis. No weight.
She nodded. Stayed a second longer than necessary. Then turned toward her room.
And that night, before falling asleep, the thought came without her forcing it.
*Always the same time.*
---
The morning of the exams had that dense silence that belongs only to certain moments. Chairs spaced apart, papers already set on the desks, pens laid down with excessive care.
She sat down. Breathed.
When the exam began, everything else stopped existing. Only questions. And answers. Slow at first, then more fluid.
When they told her she could turn it in, it took her a few seconds to register it. Not from insecurity. Because her body was still inside the rhythm of the test.
Then she raised her hand. Turned it in.
Outside the classroom, the air felt different. Lighter.
She pulled out her phone.
18:09.
She stared at it a second. Said nothing. Put it away.
And in that moment she saw him. On the other side of the courtyard. Same spot. Same posture as always. He was leaving.
She slowed slightly. Not enough to stop. Just enough to notice him better.
Something that kept repeating. Without ever changing.
The days after the exams slipped by weightlessly.
---
Then classes resumed.
A full classroom. Literature lecture. He sat as always - same position, same calm, gaze fixed and attentive.
In the afternoon she was writing when she noticed him.
His phone buzzed. Once. Then again.
He looked at it. Stayed still a few seconds - the screen lighting up his face faintly, neutral. Then something, for the briefest instant, crossed his expression. It vanished right away.
She couldn't have said for certain. But she'd noticed.
He got up. Unhurried. Without explaining. Backpack on his shoulder. The chair made a small sound.
And he left the classroom.
She followed him with her eyes until the door closed.
She stayed still a few seconds.
Then went back to her notebook.
But she wasn't really writing anymore.
---
That evening the house had that normal silence, made of distant sounds and low light from the TV.
She was on the couch, legs crossed under her, a light blanket over her.
Click. Footsteps in the hallway.
He came in. As always. Unhurried. Without saying anything. He walked past the living room and disappeared down the hallway. His bedroom door closed shortly after.
Silence.
She stayed still a few seconds.
Then lowered the volume slightly.
"...tomorrow..."
She said it quietly. Almost without voice.
Pause.
Then, clearer in her head than in the air:
"I've decided."
One second. Silence.
"Tomorrow I'll follow him."