Adrian's POV
The campus felt different after she spoke to him.
Not louder. Not brighter. If anything, it had grown quieter under the weight of exam tension. Students moved with purpose now. Heads down. Shoulders tight. Everyone was focused on survival.
The decision to come in as a lecturer had been favorable. More than favorable. It placed him exactly where he needed to be, close enough to observe without explanation, present without suspicion.
He had been following her quietly when something slipped from her belongings.
It happened without intention.
Before he could stop himself, before logic intervened, his body moved. He picked it up and called out her name.
The sound of it left his mouth too easily.
His heart reacted instantly, a sharp, unwelcome beat against his ribs. This was not part of the plan. He had not intended to cross that line. And now, standing there, exposed by a single word, he waited for the consequences.
She stared at him.
Just a moment too long.
Confusion surfaced across her face, subtle but unmistakable. Adrian noticed everything. The slight furrow in her brows. The pause before her lips parted. The way her eyes searched his face, skimming memory, trying to place him.
He waited for it.
The spark.
The realization.
The shift.
It never came.
Disappointment tightened his chest before he could stop it. He had thought he made an impression that night. He had expected recognition, even if faint. Something. A reaction would have been enough. A crack in her composure. Anything to prove he had mattered more than a passing stranger.
But she did not recognize him.
And then came relief.
The past remained sealed. Whatever had hovered at the edge of her awareness dissolved quickly, replaced by politeness and distance. The balance returned, and with it, his control.
He adjusted his expression easily. Calm. Approachable. Forgettable.
"You dropped this," he said.
She took it from him, murmured a thank you, and stepped away almost immediately. Her attention shifted back to her world. Her schedules. Her exams. A life that did not include him yet.
He watched her walk away.
Two seconds later, he turned and left as well.
Back in his car, the disappointment lingered longer than it should have. Not because she did not remember him, but because a part of him wanted her to.
That was the problem.
Wanting had never been part of the plan.
He reminded himself of that as he drove off, blending back into the rhythm of his life. There would be other moments. Better ones. He had time now.
And when she finally recognized him, he would make sure it mattered.
The next day came quickly.
He woke with a quiet anticipation he did not bother questioning. Anyone observing him might have assumed he worked at the college full time, given how often he was there now. The administrator had agreed easily when Adrian proposed assisting as a temporary lecturer, framed neatly as experience for a professional project. No one turned down help that lightened their workload.
The library emptied faster than usual that evening.
Exams were starting the next day. Students filtered out in waves, tension trailing behind them. Adrian sat deep in the back section, far from the entrance. Too quiet. Too forgotten. Exactly where he wanted to be.
He pretended to work.
Papers that did not need grading. Attendance sheets he already knew by heart. His attention drifted despite himself. He should have been watching Elora. Making sure she was safe.
Minutes later, she walked in.
He did not look up.
He did not need to.
He knew her presence the way one knows a change in temperature. The air shifted. Subtle, immediate. He recognized the sound of her footsteps, the way she settled into silence like it belonged to her.
He stayed still.
Time passed without him noticing.
When the announcement came, it reached him muffled and distant. Chairs scraped back. Footsteps retreated. The library slowly drained of life until the quiet became heavy.
Too heavy.
By the time he looked up, the lights dimmed.
Then they went out completely.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Not because of the darkness.
Because she was still there.
He stood slowly, controlling his breathing. Measured. Patient.
She had not realized it yet. That awareness came late, creeping in when the silence stretched too far to ignore. He stayed in the shadows, watching as unease settled into her posture.
When she called out, her voice echoed thinner than it should have. Not panicked yet, but close.
He waited.
Then he moved.
Her scream cut through the dark when she saw him. Adrian flinched internally, not at the sound, but at the fear behind it. Fear complicated things. He did not want that yet.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he said quickly, stepping forward just enough to be seen. No sudden movements. No closeness.
She clutched her bag like armor.
Almost ridiculous.
He explained simply. He had fallen asleep. He had been locked in too. Ordinary. Believable. She accepted it not because it made sense, but because the alternative required too many questions.
He had not fallen asleep.
Not entirely.
Exhaustion had been real. Long days. Constant vigilance. Maintaining normalcy demanded more energy than he liked to admit. He already knew every shelf, every shadow, every exit in the library.
They searched together.
He let her lead.
When he found the side exit that never fully latched, he waited. He let frustration sharpen her movements. Let urgency rise. Then he stepped in and solved it cleanly.
Heroics were unnecessary. Reliability was better.
Outside, when she checked transit times and found nothing running, he felt the shift again. Circumstances narrowing her options.
When he offered the ride, his tone remained neutral. No insistence. No persuasion. Just inevitability.
She hesitated.
Then she agreed.
In his car, she sat silent and guarded. Adrian focused on the road ahead, thinking how easily trust formed when fear had nowhere else to go.
When she asked to be dropped short of home, he complied without comment.
Smart girl.
As she stepped out, she thanked him softly and wished him goodnight. He replied simply.
Then he said her name.
That had been intentional.
Not to frighten her. Just enough to stay with her.
Some recognition did not arrive all at once. Some unfolded slowly.
He was very patient.
She lingered for a second, as if considering a question she chose not to ask. Then she left.
As the door closed, Adrian shut his eyes briefly and breathed in the faint trace she left behind. Vanilla. Roses. A scent he would come to crave.
It would not stay long.
But soon enough, all his patience would be rewarded.