Liam texted me at exactly 6:12 a.m.
I had been awake for an hour already.
Liam: Good morning. Do you need a ride to school today?
A smile tugged at my lips.
He was trying.
Trying to matter.
Trying to be useful.
Trying to belong to me.
I didn't answer right away. People like Liam shouldn't learn that access to me is easy. They should learn to wait. To wonder. To earn.
Five minutes. Ten.
At fifteen, I finally replied:
Me: I'm already on the bus. Maybe next time.
A half-truth.
I could have taken the bus.
But I didn't.
I was standing at the window, sipping tea, watching the street.
The moment he read my message, I saw the headlights of his black car flash as he turned the corner too fast. He must've rushed out just in case he could still catch me.
He didn't see me watching him from the second floor.
Patience, Liam.
I'll let you win when I want to.
Mrs. Olivia called out from the hallway, "Crystal! Breakfast!"
"Coming!" I answered, grabbing my backpack.
School felt warmer today. Or maybe it was just the attention.
Whispers followed me down the hallway like shadows.
"Who's that girl?"
"She's new… Crystal Whitman."
"She's pretty. Kind of scary, though."
"Liam's been following her around."
Good.
I walked to my locker—slow, confident, the type of walk that made people turn without understanding why.
Liam appeared almost instantly, breathless from hurrying.
"You didn't text me back," he said, trying to sound casual. He failed. His voice cracked.
"I did," I reminded him with a shrug. "You just didn't catch up."
"I—well—yeah," he mumbled, rubbing his neck. "I tried."
A simple sentence, but he said it the way people confess.
He tried.
He cared.
He wanted.
A small win for me.
"I appreciate the effort," I murmured, closing my locker gently. "Not everyone tries."
He brightened as though I had handed him an award.
"Do you want to hang out after school?" he asked quickly. Too quickly.
I paused deliberately.
Hesitation is a weapon.
Then I gave him a slow, careful smile. "Maybe. I'll let you know."
His eyes softened, disappointed but hopeful—perfect.
During chemistry class, I pretended not to notice him staring at me. I kept my focus on the formulas, but I could feel his gaze burning holes into my skin.
I let him stare.
Let him wonder.
Let him fall.
People trust more deeply when they think the connection is their idea.
Midway through class, I slipped him a note.
Meet me at lunch. Alone.
He read it five times.
When the bell rang, he practically ran to the cafeteria.
I didn't. I took my time.
When I finally walked in, Liam was sitting where I told him to—corner table, away from his friends, nervous fingers tapping the tray.
"Hey," he said, standing when he saw me.
Interesting. I hadn't expected that level of eagerness. Not yet.
I sat without asking.
He sat too.
"You wanted to talk?" he asked.
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "I want to ask you something."
"O-okay."
"If someone hurt you… and you couldn't tell anyone… would you keep it secret?"
He blinked. "Um. I—I guess. If the person trusted me."
Trust. Good.
He was choosing the right words without knowing why.
I looked down at my hands, purposely letting a small, rehearsed tremble show. "What if it was something… dark?"
His eyes widened with concern.
"Crystal… are you okay?"
Perfect. He took the bait.
I lifted my gaze slowly. "I'm just asking hypothetically."
He swallowed. "Yes. I'd keep your secret."
There it was—the first string tied.
During last period, I made sure to walk out with him.
Eyes followed us.
He walked half a step behind me like a bodyguard.
"You're quiet," he said softly.
"I'm thinking."
"About… what?"
"You asked me to hang out today."
He nodded quickly. "Y-Yeah. I did."
I stopped walking, turning to face him.
He mirrored my stop.
"Walk me home," I said simply.
His breath hitched. "Seriously? Yeah—of course."
I could hear it—the happiness he was trying hard to hide.
But I had motives.
Clear ones.
I needed to know how far he would go for me.
The streets were quiet, sunlight streaming through orange-leaved trees. Liam carried my bag even though I hadn't asked.
"You don't talk much," he said after five minutes of awkward silence.
"Talking is overrated," I said.
"Right," he said, smiling nervously. "I guess I talk enough for both of us."
"You do."
"Uh—sorry. I just want to know you better."
Poor boy.
He didn't realize that the version of me he wanted didn't exist.
When we reached a small bridge near my street, I slowed down.
"Liam," I murmured, stopping in the center.
He turned to me, confused. "Yeah?"
"Tell me something honest."
"What kind of something?"
"Anything."
He cleared his throat. "Okay… um… I think you're interesting. I mean, I really like—"
"No," I cut him off. "Not about me."
His cheeks reddened. "Oh. Uh… my dad and I don't talk much. He works a lot. And I always feel like… I'm disappointing him."
There it was: the crack.
Everyone has one.
A crack.
A weakness.
A pressure point.
"Thank you for being honest," I said softly.
He inhaled sharply, like the moment meant more than it did.
"Can I ask you something?" he whispered.
I nodded.
"Why me?"
Because you're easy.
Because you're lonely.
Because you crave validation you'll confuse for love.
But I didn't say that.
Instead:
"You seem kind."
His face brightened like a child given candy.
"Crystal," he murmured. "I won't let anyone hurt you. Ever."
I hid my smile.
There it was: the second string.
When we reached my house, he hesitated.
"Should I… say goodbye?" he asked quietly.
I tilted my head.
"Do you want to?"
"Yes."
I stepped closer—dangerously close. His breath faltered.
"Then say it," I whispered.
He did.
Soft.
Shy.
Devoted.
"Goodbye… Crystal."
I let my fingers brush against his wrist—barely a touch. But it froze him in place.
"Goodbye, Liam."
I turned and walked into the house, closing the door behind me without another glance.
Inside, my heart rate was steady.
Not fluttering.
Not speeding.
Just calm.
Completely in control.
That night, I checked my phone.
Six missed texts from Liam.
He was falling exactly as I planned.
But just as I placed the phone down…
Mrs. Olivia knocked lightly on my door.
"Crystal? There's a letter for you."
"A letter?" My brows knitted.
Her face tightened strangely. "It's… from your old city."
A chill slid down my spine.
I opened the envelope.
At the bottom of the page were four words written in messy ink.
I know who you are.
My breath stilled.
My pulse slowed.
No one should know.
Not here.
Not now.
Not when my game has barely begun.
And just like that—the chapter ended with a new threat.
A new twist.
A new enemy.
Because someone…
someone from my past had found me.
And I wasn't ready to be found.