CHAPTER 3
Sophie tried to focus on her lecture, but the words on the board blurred into meaningless lines. The professor's voice, once so commanding, became a distant hum as her mind replayed last night — Alexander's dark, tired eyes, the warmth of his hand brushing hers, the way he had looked at her as if she were the only person who mattered. She swallowed hard, trying to convince herself it had been a mistake, a fleeting moment that should be buried forever.
Walking through the campus courtyard, Sophie hugged her books tighter. Students laughed, chatted, and hurried past, their lives seemingly ordinary, predictable, untouched by the chaos swirling in her own. Their brightness made her feel smaller, invisible, fragile. She forced herself to breathe and focus on the tasks ahead: lectures, assignments, deadlines.
A sudden wave of nausea twisted her stomach. She froze, clutching her abdomen. Stress, she told herself. Too little sleep, too many responsibilities, too much overthinking. She shook her head, willing the feeling to pass, but it lingered like a quiet warning.
At her part-time job at the café after lectures, the dizziness returned every time she bent over the counter or carried trays of food. Sophie forced a smile at customers, hid the wobble in her steps. She had learned long ago that weakness invited ridicule — showing any cracks would only make her a target.
Later that evening, as she tried to study, her phone buzzed. An unknown number flashed on the screen. Her heart jumped. Could it be him? No. She quickly shook the thought away. She wasn't ready to hear from Alexander. She wasn't sure she even wanted to.
Yet the tension in her chest refused to leave. Something had shifted — a subtle change she couldn't explain. A quiet unease that whispered warnings she wasn't ready to acknowledge. Her body, her mind, even her heart seemed to hum with something unknown.
Sophie exhaled slowly, hugging herself. She had to focus on school, keep working, and hide the confusion swelling inside her. Last night had left a mark — a mark that would not fade easily. And deep down, she knew life would never be ordinary again. Not after him. Not after that night.
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