The night blurred into fragments of half-dreams and waking jolts. Every time Nina's eyelids sagged shut, she saw him again—silhouetted behind her curtains, patient, silent, immovable. The image stamped itself onto the backs of her eyes. She would jolt awake, clutching the blanket, heart hammering against her ribs as though trying to tear itself free, only to find the balcony empty. Just curtains shifting faintly in the draft, shadows arranged in ways her mind twisted into something more.
She pulled the blanket over her head once, like a child hiding from monsters, but that was worse. Darkness under the fabric pressed in too close, thick and suffocating, and she shoved it away with shaking hands. She counted the seconds ticking from the clock, one by one, but lost track when her thoughts spun away again.
When dawn finally broke, pale light filtering in through the blinds, she was more exhausted than before. Her temples throbbed with a dull ache, her eyes gritty from lack of rest. Every muscle felt bruised with tension. But classes waited, and routine was the only weapon she had left. If she didn't cling to normality, she would drown in paranoia.
She forced herself out of bed, feet dragging on the cold floor, and stumbled into the shower. Hot water steamed against her skin, but it couldn't wash away the memory of the shadow behind her curtains. Her arms remained crossed over her chest even as she scrubbed at her skin.
She dressed slowly, pulling on jeans and a sweater that hung too large on her thin frame, sleeves swallowing her hands. She packed her bag with stiff, deliberate motions. Laptop, notebooks, pens. Her fingers hovered over the desk drawer, the one where she had shoved the book. For a long moment, she stood frozen, staring at the faint line where the wood met, knowing what waited just beneath.
She didn't dare open it again. Not today.
But she couldn't bring herself to leave it behind either. What if someone else touched it? What if he came back for it?
Her breath shallow, she pulled the drawer open just enough to slide the book out. The leather cover looked darker in the morning light, edges damp where her hands had gripped it last. She slid it into her bag beneath a pile of notebooks, shoving it deep enough that no one could see.
The weight dragged at her shoulder instantly.
Outside, the city seemed too bright that morning, too indifferent. The sidewalks thrummed with life: students with backpacks slung over one shoulder, cyclists weaving between trams, cafés spilling the smell of espresso and butter into the crisp autumn air. Voices overlapped in chatter, laughter, yawns. The sharp scrape of skateboards on pavement rattled somewhere behind her.
Nina moved among them like a ghost. Her body went through the motions—step forward, glance left, shift bag higher on shoulder—but her mind darted in every direction. Every face she passed seemed unfamiliar. Too unfamiliar. Anyone could be him.
Her first lecture passed in a haze. She sat stiffly in her chair, pen moving mechanically over paper, copying down bullet points without absorbing a word. The graphs on the screen blurred into nonsense, her eyes sliding past them again and again.
Beside her, Lara nudged her elbow, whispering jokes under her breath, but Nina didn't laugh at the right moments. When she finally glanced up, Lara was watching her with a crease between her brows.
By midday, Nina gave up the act of pretending. Her nerves felt like frayed wires sparking under her skin. She slipped away after class, offering Lara some mumbled excuse she didn't remember, and headed toward the library.
A strange logic guided her. If she was surrounded by people, she was safer. If she buried herself in books, maybe she'd forget the shadow on her balcony, the notes in the margins, the feeling of eyes pressed into her back.
The library's quiet was a balm at first. She climbed the stairs to the upper level, her steps muffled against the carpet, and scanned the room. Students bent over textbooks, a few typing furiously at laptops, one yawning against the window. Everything looked ordinary.
She chose a seat by the window this time—no corners, no blind spots. Grey light slanted through tall glass panes, washing the tables in a soft gloom. She set down her coffee, pulled out her laptop, and opened her presentation.
Minutes passed. The normalcy soothed her. The hum of typing, the soft shuffle of pages turning. For a while, she almost convinced herself she'd imagined everything. That the shadow at the balcony had been a trick of sleeplessness. That the notes were exaggerations, misinterpretations.
And then—
"Your slides are too cluttered."
The voice was low, calm, and close. Right behind her shoulder. Male.
Nina's body reacted before her mind did. She jumped, nearly knocking over her coffee, the liquid sloshing dangerously against the rim. Her chair squeaked against the floor as she twisted.
He was there.
The man from the shadows.
Dark jacket. Pale eyes that caught the dim light like glass. Hair dark too, strands falling across his forehead as though he hadn't cared to tame them. His face was younger than she had expected—late twenties, maybe early thirties—but there was something in the set of his mouth, the sharp line of his jaw, that felt older. Harder.
Her mouth went dry. Her heart slammed so loud she thought the whole library must hear it.
"Excuse me?"
"Your slides." He gestured with the faintest tilt of his chin toward the laptop screen. His voice was smooth, deliberate, almost polite. "Too many bullet points. Your professor will stop listening after the third one."
She stared at him, blood roaring in her ears.
He knew.
He shouldn't know.
Her seminar presentation wasn't public. She hadn't shown it to anyone, not even Lara. She had worked on it alone, last night, in her room.
Nina's hand darted forward and snapped the laptop closed. "I—I didn't ask for your opinion."
A faint smile touched his lips, brief and sharp, not reaching his eyes. "No. You didn't."
He moved then, circling the table with steps that were unhurried, casual, as though the entire place belonged to him. The scrape of the chair he pulled out across from her was deafening in the hush of the library. He sat down with the ease of someone who belonged anywhere he chose.
Nina's instincts screamed at her to run. To grab her bag, push past him, flee. But her body betrayed her. She stayed frozen, anchored in place by the gravity of his gaze.
"Who are you?" The words came out barely above a whisper.
For a heartbeat, silence stretched, taut as a wire. His pale eyes studied hers as though measuring her soul, deciding what to give her.
Finally: "Adrian."
Just the name. Flat, certain.
It didn't sound like a real name. It sounded chosen. A mask he had decided to wear.
Nina's fingers curled against the edge of the table. "How do you know about my slides?"
Adrian tilted his head, his eyes never leaving her face. "You left your files open last night."
Her breath stuttered. Her veins filled with ice. "What?"
"I told you," he said softly, as if explaining something a child should already understand. "You shouldn't leave your balcony door unlocked."
Her heart lurched violently against her ribs. She wanted to scream at him, to call him insane, but her memory betrayed her. In her panic last night, in her desperation to shut herself away, she had indeed forgotten to check the balcony door.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. His posture wasn't overtly threatening. But his presence filled the space, dense and consuming, leaving no room for air.
"You should be more careful, Nina." His voice dropped lower, brushing the edge of intimacy. "This city isn't safe. People notice you."
Her throat tightened. She forced the words out, brittle. "People like you."
That faint smile again. This time, slower, heavier. "Exactly."
The air between them thickened. Nina couldn't move. Her pulse hammered in her neck. Around them, the library carried on in quiet indifference—pages turned, keys tapped, someone coughed. No one noticed. No one cared.
Adrian reached into his pocket. When his hand reemerged, he set something on the desk in front of her. A pen. Cheap, plastic, scratched along the side.
Her pen.
The one she had lost last week.
Her fingers recoiled from it, curling back as though it burned.
"How—" Her voice cracked, thin and strangled. "How do you—"
"You drop things when you rush," Adrian interrupted gently. His tone was almost soothing. "You don't notice, but I do. I notice everything."
Her chest heaved too quickly, lungs struggling to draw in air. "Why?" The question tore out of her before she could stop it. "Why me?"
For the first time, his expression shifted. The smile vanished. What replaced it was heavier, darker, something unmovable.
"Because you're worth noticing," he said simply.
The words hit harder than any threat. They slid under her skin, lodged behind her ribs, thrummed in her veins. Fear tangled with something else—something nameless, dangerous.
Before she could shape a response, Adrian pushed his chair back. The scrape was soft this time, measured. He stood, movements fluid. He slid the pen closer to her notebook with a precise motion, as though placing it exactly where it belonged.
Then he leaned down, close enough that his shadow spilled across her hands. Close enough that she caught the faint scent of rain and cold air clinging to his jacket.
His voice brushed her ear.
"Don't worry. I'll always be close."
And just like that, he walked away. No hurry, no glance back. His steps were calm, steady, carrying him between the rows of desks until the library swallowed him whole.
Nina sat frozen, hands trembling against the tabletop. The pen lay in front of her like a wound, a small and ordinary object transformed into proof.
Proof that he had been there.
Proof that he could be anywhere.
Her lungs gave out all at once, dragging in a ragged breath. Her eyes darted desperately around the library, but no one looked her way. Not one person had seen.
For the rest of the afternoon, she didn't move. She couldn't.
The pen glared up at her, silent and sharp.
A promise. Or a threat.
She couldn't tell which terrified her more.