The house was finally quiet.
Iram sat on the edge of her bed, her damp hair falling over her shoulders as sunlight slipped through the curtains. The warm shower had washed away the exhaustion from her body, but not the irritation sitting heavily in her chest.
Alex.
Just thinking his name annoyed her.
Arrogant. Manipulative. Always acting like he knew more than everyone else.
She grabbed her pillow and threw it aside with a frustrated sigh. "I should never have gone there."
Her phone suddenly vibrated against the mattress.
Unknown Number.
She frowned. Slowly, she picked it up and opened the message.
You lie badly.
Her expression hardened immediately.
She didn't need to guess who it was.
Another message appeared.
Your brother almost caught you.
Her jaw tightened.
How did you get my number? she typed, each tap sharp and annoyed.
The reply came instantly.
You left your phone unlocked.
Careless.
Typical.
No apology.
No hesitation.
Just blunt observation.
Her irritation grew.
Stop texting me.
A pause.
Then—
Just checking if you survived breakfast interrogation.
She stared at the screen, unimpressed.
Why would you care?
The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, then returned.
I don't.
A second message followed.
Stay away from things that don't concern you.
Her eyes narrowed.
Then stop inserting yourself into my life.
This time, no reply came.
She tossed the phone onto the bed, annoyed at herself for even responding.
"Unbelievable."
The silence that followed felt heavier than the conversation itself.
College felt different that day — louder, restless, charged with something unspoken.
Students whispered in corners, conversations abruptly stopping when certain names were mentioned.
"…fight last night…"
"…Alex's group…"
"…someone got hurt…"
Iram rolled her eyes. Drama followed people like him everywhere. She had no intention of being dragged into it.
As she turned toward the courtyard, she spotted him.
Alex stood near the staircase, hands in his pockets, surrounded by a few people.
A faint cut marked his eyebrow, and his knuckles were bruised, but his expression remained completely blank — detached, like injuries meant nothing.
He wasn't laughing. Wasn't explaining.
Just listening silently, eyes cold and unreadable.
For a moment, their gazes met.
There was no warmth. No recognition beyond simple awareness.
Iram immediately looked away and continued walking, pretending he didn't exist.
That should have been the end of it.
"Skipping class again?"
His voice came from behind her — calm, low, emotionless.
She stopped slowly, irritation rising.
Turning back, she crossed her arms.
"I don't remember asking for your opinion."
A few nearby students went quiet, sensing tension.
Alex didn't react. He simply watched her, expression neutral. "You attract trouble easily."
She scoffed. "Funny coming from someone who lives in it."
Silence stretched between them.
Unlike before, there was no teasing in his eyes — only distance. Calculated calm.
"Stay out of it," he said flatly.
"I already am," she replied coldly. "And I plan to keep it that way."
He gave a small nod, as if that answer satisfied him.
Then footsteps echoed loudly down the hallway.
A group of senior students approached, their expressions openly hostile. The atmosphere shifted instantly — conversations dying, students moving aside.
Alex's posture changed subtly. Not tense. Just alert.
One of the seniors stopped a few steps away. "We're not finished."
Alex sighed quietly, like this was an inconvenience rather than a threat. "Not here."
Before Iram could move away, he briefly caught her wrist and pulled her aside into a quieter corner.
She immediately jerked her hand back.
"Don't touch me."
His grip released at once. No argument. No apology.
"Then don't stand in the middle of problems," he said calmly.
Voices outside grew louder — arguments escalating, anger sharpening the air.
"What is wrong with you people?" she muttered.
"Do you enjoy fighting?"
He didn't look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the corridor.
"You shouldn't be near this," he said, tone cold and factual.
"It doesn't concern you."
"Good," she replied sharply. "Because none of this concerns me anyway."
For a brief second, his eyes shifted toward her — unreadable, distant.
"That's the smartest thing you've said," he replied.
A loud bang echoed outside, followed by shouting. Students hurried past.
Alex stepped away from her immediately, distance returning as if a wall had been rebuilt between them.
"Go to class," he said, already turning away.
She frowned. "And you?"
"I'll handle what's mine."
No emotion. No explanation.
Just certainty.
He walked back toward the noise without hesitation, shoulders relaxed despite the tension waiting ahead.
Iram watched him disappear into the crowd, irritation settling firmly inside her again.
People like him brought chaos wherever they went.
And she wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.
Still, as she turned toward her classroom, one thought lingered unwillingly—
Why did it feel like trouble had already noticed her anyway?