The days settled into a grueling, rhythmic cycle. I woke up, started to pretend, went to attend lectures and library then returned home. It was a monotonous grind, but for the first time in months, the chaos felt manageable.
The results for the previous semester were finally posted on the campus notice board. I stood in the crowd, heart hammering against my ribs, and scanned the list until I found my name. I hadn't just passed; I had excelled. My grades were better than before, a testament to the endless hours I had spent in that quiet corner of the library, burying my pain under layers of logic and mathematics.
Looking at those numbers, a strange, fleeting sense of triumph washed over me. I had done it. I had proven that I didn't need anyone's support to survive. I was thriving despite the wreckage of my home life.
"This is it", I thought, clutching my bag straps. "I don't need to look back. I don't need the ghosts of my family. I will just keep moving forward, grade by grade, degree by degree, until I am far away from all of this."
I walked home that afternoon feeling like the ground beneath me was finally solid. For a few glorious days, it felt like everything was normal. My father was quiet, and the suffocating silence of my room felt more like a fortress than a prison. I allowed myself to breathe. I even started to believe that if I just kept my head down, I could drift through the rest of my education without any more scars.
The academic results had been a shield. For a few days, I walked the campus corridors with a sense of quiet authority, believing that if I kept my grades perfect and my demeanor icy, I could navigate this semester untouched. I was wrong.
It wasn't that the whole group had turned against me; it was something far more specific, and far more unsettling. It was Luca.
I first noticed it during a lecture. I was staring at the board, meticulously taking notes, when I felt the weight of a gaze pressing into the side of my face. When I turned my head, there was Luca, sitting a few rows back. He didn't look away, and he didn't pretend to be busy with his own work. He just stared, his eyes tracking every movement I made.
At first, I told myself it was nothing. Just a coincidence. But as the days turned into a week, it became impossible to ignore.
Whatever I did, Luca noticed.
If I laughed—which was rare—he would tilt his head, as if analyzing my expressions . If I sat in the library alone, I would look up from my book and catch him watching me from the stacks. He didn't approach me, and he didn't try to talk. He just observed.
The constant, hovering presence of Luca was becoming a physical weight on my shoulders.
It wasn't just that he watched me—it was the calculated way he kept his distance. He would stand just outside the circle of our conversation, his eyes locked onto me, but the moment I even hinted at turning his way, he would retreat or find something else to look at. He was like a shadow that refused to touch me.
I understood that he was terrified of gossip. He wanted to keep his hands clean, to stay far away from the rumors that usually follow someone like me. But if he was so desperate to avoid the mess, why couldn't he just look away? His silent scrutiny was becoming unbearable. It was an intrusion I couldn't afford.
My life was already a battlefield. Between the suffocating silence of my father's house, the constant, low-level ache of missing my mother, and the internal struggle to keep my sanity intact, I was hanging by a thread. I couldn't handle any more drama. I couldn't afford to be the subject of college rumors or the center of some boy's performative concern.
Just leave me alone, I thought, gripping my bag until my knuckles turned white. I am drowning on my own; I don't need a spectator watching me sink.
Sometimes, the urge to scream at him—to demand he stop acting like a coward and just say what he was thinking—was so strong it made my head spin. But I choked it back down. I wouldn't open a new door to more chaos. I just kept my head down, stared at my notes, and tried to exist in the same room as him without letting his gaze break me.
Months had passed, and the Luca I once knew had become a ghost. We didn't talk anymore. If we spoke at all, it was strictly academic—the next lecture, the timing of an assignment, a brief exchange about whether or not we were attending a class. That was the extent of our universe.
It was exhausting. It felt like being watched by someone who had decided I was no longer a person, but a puzzle they were too afraid to solve.
The weight of it finally became too much. One afternoon, after another session of feeling his eyes on me from across the room, I decided I was done with his stupid observation. I didn't want to cause trouble, and I certainly didn't want to drag more drama into my already fractured life, but the uncertainty was a different kind of pain.
I caught him as we were leaving the library. I walked up to him, my heart hammering against my ribs, and forced myself to look him directly in the eye.
"Luca," I started, my voice steady despite the awkwardness. "Stop being so strange. You're acting like we're complete strangers. If we had a fight, or if I did something to upset you, just say it. I'm confused by your behavior, and I'm tired of the guessing games. If you can't say it in front of me, tell me over a call or a chat—just say whatever it is you need to say."
He went completely still. For a long moment, he didn't move, his eyes searching my face as if he were trying to memorize every line of exhaustion written there.
"Iris," he finally said, his voice lower than usual. "There… there is something bothering me. It's complicated. That's why I've been keeping my distance—I didn't want to ignore you, but I felt like I had to."
I stared at him, waiting for more, but he shifted uncomfortably.
"Don't worry," he continued quickly, as if he realized he was cornered. "I'm trying to figure out something. I'm going to tell you exactly what's going on, but I promise, it won't make you uncomfortable. I just… I need a little more time. I'm overwhelmed with a lot of things right now. Let's talk later."
He turned and walked away before I could respond, leaving me standing in the middle of the hallway.
I was left with more questions than I started with. Trying to figure out? What did that even mean? I walked back to my locker, my mind spinning. I had enough problems with my father, my home, and my own broken heart. I didn't need a mystery boy complicating my path. But as I walked home, the memory of his panicked expression haunted me. He was hiding something, and for the first time, I wasn't sure if his silence was about protecting himself from gossip—or protecting me from the truth.
"Iris wanted an answer, but she got a warning instead. Luca admits that he has been avoiding her not because of gossip, but because of something far more complex that he's not ready to share. He asked for time, but time is the one thing Iris can't afford when her world is already on the verge of collapse.
What is Luca hiding? Is his hesitation a sign of genuine care?Is she prepared for the revelation Luca is hiding, or will this new turning point in her life be the very thing that breaks her?
Let's find out in the next chapter as the real story begins to unfold."