People always mistook patience for kindness.
I let them.
It made things easier.
I watched Damie from across the courtyard, careful not to linger too obviously. She walked with her head slightly down, her steps measured, like she was trying not to take up space. Most people didn't notice that kind of thing. They saw faces, bodies, noise.
I saw habits.
Patterns.
She always chose the quiet paths. Always sat where no one would bump into her. Always hesitated before entering a room, like she was bracing herself for impact.
She had been invisible long before I noticed her.
That was the problem.
I hadn't planned on getting involved. Not at first. She was just another face in a hallway until she wasn't. Until I saw the way her shoulders tensed when someone spoke too loudly. The way her eyes flicked around rooms, searching for exits.
People like her didn't need to be chased.
They needed to be noticed.
Slowly.
Rushing would scare her. I could see that much already. She startled easily. Pulled inward when attention felt too sharp. She needed calm. Consistency. Someone who didn't demand too much at once.
Someone like me.
I leaned against the railing and let my gaze drift away when her friend approached her. Cassie. Loud. Bright. The kind of girl who filled spaces without trying.
Dangerous in her own way.
Cassie laughed, touching Damie's arm as she spoke, completely unaware of how Damie flinched before relaxing again. People always missed that part. They mistook tolerance for comfort.
Damie smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
It never did.
I'd noticed that early on.
I liked noticing things no one else bothered to.
The bell rang, and the courtyard began to empty. I waited before moving, letting the crowd thin. Timing mattered. Too much presence felt like pressure. Too little felt like abandonment.
There was a balance to be maintained.
I followed at a distance as she headed toward the library, careful to keep my steps unhurried. She glanced over her shoulder once, just briefly, then scolded herself for it. I could almost hear her thoughts.
You're imagining things.
She wasn't.
But she didn't need to know that yet.
Inside the library, I stayed near the shelves, pretending to browse while watching her settle into her usual seat. Window. Corner. Romance novel. Always romance.
That made me smile.
People thought romance was about grand gestures. Confessions. Heat. Intensity. They were wrong. Real romance was about restraint. About choosing not to take something simply because you could.
I approached her aisle quietly.
She startled anyway.
I made sure my voice stayed even, non-threatening. Familiar enough to feel safe. "You always come here."
She looked at me like she wasn't sure whether she was allowed to be seen. That expression did something unpleasant and satisfying in my chest.
"I like it here," she said.
"I know."
That was the truth. I knew her routines. Her timing. The days she lingered longer. The days she left early.
I didn't tell her that.
People didn't like knowing how closely they were observed.
She accused me of paying too much attention.
She wasn't wrong.
But I smiled anyway. Let her think it was casual. Let her believe she was in control of the pace.
When I left her alone, I did it deliberately. Let the moment linger without overstaying it. Absence was as important as presence. It gave her space to think.
To wonder.
To fill the silence with me.
Later that evening, I sat in the backseat of my car while the driver navigated traffic I didn't bother to watch. The city lights blurred past the window, distant and unimportant.
The house would be empty when I got home.
It usually was.
My parents preferred distance. Business trips. Meetings. Late nights that stretched into early mornings. They liked knowing where I was without needing to see me.
It suited me.
I didn't need supervision. I didn't need warmth.
I needed purpose.
Damie gave me that.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through messages I hadn't answered. Friends. Girls. Invitations. All noise. All temporary.
She wasn't like them.
She didn't ask for my attention. She didn't demand explanations. She existed quietly, like she didn't expect anyone to stay.
People like that didn't leave on their own.
They waited to be chosen.
I intended to choose her carefully.
Slowly.
I would become familiar before becoming important. Reliable before essential. I would let her lean without realizing she was doing it.
By the time she noticed the weight, it would already feel natural.
Love didn't have to hurt to be powerful.
It just had to be constant.
And when she finally looked up one day and realized she belonged somewhere, I would be there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Ready.