The morning campus air carried that restless hum I had grown used to—the shuffle of students, the metallic hiss of bicycle brakes, the chatter of friends walking side by side. Everyone seemed to move with purpose, except me.
I clutched my bag against my side, eyes low, weaving through the crowd like a ghost. Maybe I wanted to be invisible. Maybe it was safer that way.
And then I wasn't invisible.
It happened too quickly: the hard jolt of another body against mine, the sharp intake of breath, my books tumbling onto the pavement.
"Oh—sorry," a voice said, deep and steady.
I knelt down, scrambling to gather my things, muttering, "It's fine." My fingers fumbled, betraying the rush of nerves.
Then I noticed his hand—large, steady—picking up the copy of my battered notebook, the one I never let anyone touch. His fingers brushed mine as he handed it back, and I froze.
Dark eyes met mine. Warm, unhurried, curious.
For a heartbeat, I forgot where I was.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied too quickly. My voice cracked like it hadn't been used in days.
His mouth curved into the faintest smile, like he'd heard more than I'd said. "Good. Because that looked like a pretty rough collision."
I straightened, clutching the notebook to my chest like a shield. "Really—it's fine."
He tilted his head, studying me in a way that felt both unsettling and impossible to look away from. Then, almost casually, he asked, "What's your name?"
My throat tightened.
It was such a simple question. But names carried weight, and mine still felt tied to a past I couldn't untangle.
I hesitated long enough that his brows lifted, amused.
"Angela," I finally said, my voice low.
"Angela," he repeated, rolling the syllables slowly, as if he wanted to keep it. Then he offered, "Elias."
I swallowed hard, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder. "Well… thanks. For the notebook."
"You're welcome." His smile lingered as though he already knew I wouldn't forget him.
I turned and walked away before I could find out what else he might say. But even as I blended back into the crowd, I felt it—that strange, unwelcome pull, like an invisible thread tugging at me.
By the time I reached class, my hands were still trembling. And the name—Elias—echoed in my mind, as though it was meant to stay.