They say the quietest people hold the loudest secrets. If that's true, then Alexis Prince is a cathedral of echoes.
He doesn't flinch when called on in class. Doesn't stammer. Doesn't even fidget like normal people. Everything about him is… precise. Not robotic. Not fake. Just calculated.
I've been watching him. Not in a creepy way—at least, I don't think so. I just notice things. The way he moves through space like he's always aware of every angle. The way his expression never quite shifts too much. Like he's aware someone might be watching him. Like he's aware I might be watching him.
And then came the ring.
It wasn't flashy. Black with a faint shimmer, like gold caught in shadow. Not expensive-looking. But not cheap. It looked crafted. Personal. I don't know when exactly he started wearing it. One day it wasn't there, and then suddenly, it was—a subtle, constant part of him, like it had always belonged.
People at university don't really notice each other. Everyone's in their own bubble, consumed by classes, deadlines, social groups. But I notice patterns. And Alexis... his patterns don't quite fit. They're too consistent. His steps, his voice, his posture—all measured. Like he's rehearsed everything in advance.
Once, I dropped my pen during a group discussion. He picked it up before I even bent down, already holding it out to me with a soft, neutral smile. The exact timing of it made my skin crawl. Not because it was bad—because it was perfect.
And then the store appeared.
Axis Goods. Tucked into a street that nobody from campus even walks down unless they're lost or live nearby. No flyers, no post on university forums. Just… appeared. No opening day buzz. No chatter. I only found it because I'd been walking without thinking, letting my feet wander.
The front was minimal—clean signage, frosted glass, a soft logo that looked like it belonged to some high-end designer label. I pushed the door open and walked in. Instantly, the smell of old paper and cedarwood hit me. Soft music played somewhere in the background.
The store was organized like an art gallery. Everything placed with care. The kind of store where prices are printed in tiny font and no one haggles. There was an aura to it, a silence that whispered: "you weren't meant to find this place—yet here you are."
And he was behind the counter.
Alexis. Calm as ever. No apron, no name tag. Just a sleek black shirt, sleeves rolled slightly, and that same subtle ring on his right hand.
He didn't seem surprised to see me. Just nodded, as if we were two actors finally meeting on script.
I asked him about the ring. He smiled. Said it was "just a piece he liked." But the way he touched it when I asked? That ring meant something. Maybe not power. But authority. He didn't fidget with it like a nervous habit. He held it like a symbol.
I bought a notebook I didn't need. Left with my heart pounding. Not from fear. But from... realization.
He's hiding something. Not in the way criminals hide. Not like someone running from the law or hoarding guilt. More like a shadow that walks beside its owner. Like he's allowing himself to be seen only as much as he wants.
I went home that night and started typing. Not on my public laptop. On the one I keep in my drawer. The one without any university accounts. The one I use for research.
Alexis Prince.
No public media accounts. No photos tagged by others. Barely any digital trace at all. His grades? Solid. Attendance? Flawless. But nothing outside of that. He didn't join clubs. Didn't attend parties. Didn't show up in any of the campus memes or viral jokes. It was like he floated through college in a bubble of studied invisibility.
The website for Axis Goods? Gone. I checked the link I had saved earlier. Offline. The domain registry had been wiped clean. Even a basic WHOIS search turned up nothing useful. That's when I knew: this wasn't just good opsec. This was professional.
I tried again later, using a VPN. Same result. The shop's digital shadow had vanished. But the physical store remained.
And he remained. Always calm. Always five steps ahead.
The next day at the university café, I sat near the corner, pretending to scroll on my phone. He was across the room, typing on a sleek, brandless laptop. His posture straight, his fingers moving fluidly across the keyboard. His eyes didn't dart around the room like most students. He didn't seem distracted. Just... focused. Controlled.
He looked up once.
Just once.
Our eyes met. There wasn't surprise in his gaze. No embarrassment. No awkwardness. Just quiet awareness. And a flicker of something else—something that sent a chill down my spine.
He didn't smile this time. Just offered a small nod before closing his laptop and rising.
He passed by my table. And he said something. Not loud. Not clear. Just a whisper I might've imagined.
I turned in my seat, watching him disappear out the café doors, coat billowing softly.
Back in my room, I flipped open my journal.
Entry #21.
"Alexis Prince: too smooth to be accidental. Too calm to be empty. Too mysterious to be boring. There's a depth there. Like someone who's already lived a hundred lives and is pretending to start a new one."
My roommate, Saira, thinks I'm overthinking. She laughed when I told her about the store. Said maybe Alexis is just a quiet guy who happens to like fancy pens. I nodded along. But inside, I felt it tightening.
I know what I saw.
I don't want to expose him.
I want to understand him.
Because what if I'm right?
What if there's something hidden in plain sight?
Who is Alexis Prince?
He's not dangerous. Not to me. But I don't think he's ordinary, either.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
Because what if I'm the only one who sees it?
And what if he knows I do?
I closed my journal and stared out the window. Below, students walked in little groups, laughing, talking, heading to class or grabbing snacks. Living their normal, predictable lives.
But I couldn't unsee the silence Alexis moved with. The stillness he carried. The unshakable presence that whispered of control far beyond a college student's world.
Something tells me this story isn't just mine anymore.
Something tells me his has already begun.