Chapter Four
The Way He Looked at Me
I did not go back.
That was the one thing I held on to as I walked away that night, repeating it in my head like it meant something, like it proved I still had control over whatever this was trying to become.
I did not go back.
But I thought about it.
And that made it worse.
Because it was not just a passing thought, not something light and forgettable, it stayed, quiet and constant, like a question I refused to answer.
What would have happened if I did?
I did not like that question.
I did not like how easily my mind returned to him, to the way he stood there, watching me like he already knew something I had not accepted yet.
I should have ignored it.
I tried.
By the next morning, I told myself it would be different.
No hesitation.
No looking around.
No stopping.
Just a normal day.
Simple.
Controlled.
That was the plan.
It failed the moment I stepped onto campus.
Because even before I saw him, I felt it.
That same quiet awareness, subtle but impossible to ignore, like something had already changed and there was no going back to the way things were before.
"You are doing it again."
Lila's voice came from beside me, calm but certain, and I did not need to look at her to know she was watching me closely.
"I am not doing anything."
"You are thinking."
"That is normal."
"Not like this."
I exhaled slowly, adjusting my bag, trying to focus on something else, anything else, but it did not work, because my thoughts were not listening anymore.
"I am fine," I said.
"You are not."
"I am."
"You are lying."
"I am not."
She stopped walking.
I took two more steps before realizing, then turned back, already knowing what I would see.
That look.
The one that made it impossible to pretend.
"This is already a problem," she said quietly.
"It is not a problem."
"It is becoming one."
"It is not."
She held my gaze for a moment longer, like she was deciding whether to push further or let it go.
Then she sighed.
"You do not get pulled into things like this," she said, softer now.
"I am not pulled into anything."
"You are."
"I am not."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it is true."
She did not look convinced.
But she nodded anyway.
"Just be careful," she said again.
I nodded back.
Because that was easier than explaining something I did not understand myself.
---
The day passed slowly.
Too slowly.
Every moment stretched longer than it should have, every class harder to focus on, every quiet second filled with thoughts I did not want.
And the worst part was not that I was thinking about him.
It was that I was aware of it.
Every time.
Every second.
Like I was watching myself lose control and doing nothing to stop it.
By the time my last class ended, I was exhausted.
Not physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
In a way I could not explain without admitting something I was not ready to face.
I left quickly, my steps faster than usual, my focus fixed ahead, determined not to let my eyes wander, not to give myself the chance to see him even if he was there.
Because I knew.
If I saw him, I would stop.
And I could not afford that.
Not again.
I turned down the same path as yesterday.
I did not plan to.
It just happened.
And the moment I realized it, I slowed slightly, my thoughts shifting, my instincts warning me of something I was already expecting.
He was there.
Of course he was.
Leaning against the same tree, like nothing had changed, like this was normal, like this was something we had already established without saying it out loud.
"You came back."
His voice was calm.
Certain.
Like he had been expecting this.
"I did not," I said.
"You did."
"I did not come back for you."
"You came back."
"That does not mean anything."
"It does."
I exhaled slowly, trying to stay steady, trying to hold on to whatever control I had left.
"You should stop saying that."
"And you should stop denying it."
"I am not denying anything."
"You are."
"I am not."
"You are."
I looked at him, frustration building again, but underneath it, something else, something quieter, something I was starting to recognize and hate at the same time.
"You were waiting," I said.
"Yes."
"For me."
"Yes."
"You are too sure of yourself."
"I am not sure," he said quietly, "I just pay attention."
"That is the same thing."
"It is not."
"It is."
Silence settled between us again.
But this time, it felt different.
Closer.
Like the space between us was shrinking without either of us moving.
"You should leave," I said.
"Why?"
"Because this is not normal."
"It feels normal."
"No, it does not."
"It does to me."
"That does not make it right."
"I did not say it was right."
"Then what is it?"
He looked at me for a moment.
Really looked.
And something in his gaze shifted, something deeper, something that made my chest tighten before I could stop it.
"It is real," he said.
The words were simple.
But they stayed.
Because they felt heavier than everything else he had said.
"I do not believe you," I said, but my voice was quieter now.
"You do."
"I do not."
"You do."
"I do not."
"Then why are you still here?"
Silence.
Again.
And this time, it was worse.
Because I did not have an answer.
And he knew it.
"You keep asking me that," I said.
"Because you keep not answering."
"I do not need to."
"You do."
"No, I do not."
"You do."
I shook my head slightly, stepping back, creating space that felt necessary, even if it was already too late for that.
"This is not happening," I said.
"It is."
"It is not."
"It is."
I turned away.
I needed to.
Because staying there, standing in front of him like this, felt like standing too close to something I could not control.
"I am leaving," I said.
"Alright."
I hesitated.
Just for a second.
That was all it took.
"Aria."
I closed my eyes briefly.
Then I turned.
Again.
"What?"
He took a step closer.
Not too close.
But enough.
"You keep coming back," he said quietly.
"I do not."
"You do."
"I do not."
"You do."
I stared at him, my thoughts racing, my control slipping in a way I could no longer ignore.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked.
"Because you are letting me."
The words hit harder than anything else.
Because they were true.
And I hated that.
"I am not letting you do anything," I said.
"You are."
"I am not."
"You are."
"How?"
He held my gaze.
Steady.
Unmoving.
"Because you keep turning back."
Silence fell between us.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
And for the first time, I felt it clearly.
Not confusion.
Not curiosity.
Not even frustration.
Something else.
Something deeper.
Something I could no longer pretend was not there.
And that scared me more than anything.
"I will not next time," I said.
"Then there will be no next time."
The words were calm.
Certain.
Final.
And something about them felt different.
Like a shift.
Like a line had just been drawn.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means," he said quietly, "if you walk away now, I will not stop you again."
My chest tightened.
That was new.
That had not happened before.
He had always called my name.
Always given me a reason to stop.
And now, he was saying he would not.
"You are lying," I said.
"I am not."
"You are."
"I am not."
Silence.
Again.
But this time, it felt like a decision.
Like something was about to end.
Or begin.
I looked at him.
At the calm in his expression.
At the certainty.
At the way he stood there like he meant every word he said.
And for the first time, I was not sure what I wanted him to do.
Call my name.
Or stay silent.
I turned.
Slowly.
Carefully.
And I started walking.
One step.
Then another.
Waiting.
Listening.
Expecting.
Nothing.
No voice.
No sound.
No interruption.
My chest tightened with every step.
Because this was what I said I wanted.
This was what I asked for.
So why did it feel wrong?
Why did it feel like something was slipping away?
I kept walking.
I did not stop.
I did not turn.
I did not give myself the chance to go back.
But the silence followed me.
Louder than anything he had ever said.
And by the time I reached the end of the path, I understood something I could not ignore anymore.
I had not been trying to avoid him.
I had been waiting for him to stop me.
And now that he had not, something felt different.
Something felt empty.
And something told me that the next time I saw him, everything would change.
End of Chapter Four