Elora's POV
He started appearing like he had always been there.
The first time, I told myself it was coincidence.
I stepped out of the faculty building and there he was, leaning against his car as if the parking lot belonged to him. The late afternoon sun rested on his shoulders, calm and deliberate. He wasn't looking at his phone. He wasn't talking to anyone.
He was watching me.
I slowed without meaning to. My bag slipped slightly on my shoulder.
He straightened when our eyes met.
"Do you always walk that fast," he asked, pushing off the car, "or are you running from something?"
"I have somewhere to be."
"So do I." His gaze did not leave my face. "Yet here I am."
I moved past him.
My heart betrayed me by beating harder.
By Wednesday, it was no longer coincidence.
He was outside my lecture hall before class ended. Not inside. Not pretending to attend. Just waiting.
Students filtered out in groups. Laughter. Noise. Movement.
He stood still.
When I stepped out, his eyes found me immediately.
"You looked bored in there."
"You were watching me?"
"Obviously."
I tightened my grip on my books. "That's strange."
"No," he said quietly. "What's strange is how you act like you expect something bad to happen at any second."
My chest tightened.
"You don't know me."
"I'm trying to."
There was no flirt in his tone. No teasing. Just fact.
I walked away again.
He followed, not close enough to invade my space, but close enough to make his presence known.
"You always go this way?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Alone?"
I stopped. "Why does that matter to you?"
"It doesn't." A pause. "Yet."
That word lingered.
We reached the edge of campus where the road opened into the quieter stretch that led toward my apartment. Fewer students. Fewer witnesses.
His car rolled forward from where it had been parked. He must have signaled someone earlier. I had not noticed.
He opened the passenger door.
"I'll drop you."
"I can get home."
"I'm sure you can."
"Then why are you offering?"
His expression softened just slightly. Not weakness. Calculation.
"Because you look like someone who carries too much alone."
The words struck deeper than they should have.
"I don't need help," I said.
"I didn't say you did."
Silence stretched between us.
Cars passed. The wind shifted.
He rested his arm on the door frame, patient. Not pushing. Waiting.
"You don't trust me," he said.
"I don't know you."
"Then get in."
Three simple words.
My pulse climbed to my throat.
I told myself there was nothing wrong as I opened the door. This would be the second time he was dropping me off. Second time. That was all. Nothing more.
I slid into the passenger seat and tried to calm the sudden flutter in my chest. The smell of leather and a faint hint of cologne hit me immediately. I faced the window.
He started the car.
"Did your lectures bore you today?" he asked casually.
"I'm fine." I kept my eyes on the passing streetlights.
"You didn't answer yesterday either," he said, voice low, not pressing. "Are you always like this?"
I said nothing.
He glanced at me quickly, then back at the road. I could feel his gaze from the corner of my eye. It was deliberate. Heavy. Observing. Waiting.
I pressed my hand against the glass, staring at the blur of trees and streetlamps. I told myself it was just a ride home. Nothing more.
"You look tense," he said. "Tight. Like you're carrying something you shouldn't."
I shrugged slightly, silent.
"Doesn't help to carry it alone," he said quietly.
"I don't need your advice," I muttered.
"Not advice," he corrected, calm. "Observation."
His eyes flicked toward me again. I could feel the weight of them, the intensity. I kept looking out the window. The car passed familiar streets, and the ride ended too quickly.
I got out without looking at him.
After that day, I tried my best to avoid him.
He noticed. I knew he noticed.
I started taking different routes to classes, leaving through side exits, walking with my headphones in. I kept my head down, pretending not to see him. But it never lasted long. He always appeared somewhere close enough to remind me he was aware. Watching. Waiting.
One afternoon, I was passing by an empty classroom after finishing a library session. I slowed slightly when I realized it was deserted. I thought I could slip past unnoticed.
I was wrong.
He stepped out from the shadows. Calm. Confident. Arms folded.
"You are avoiding me," he said. His voice was calm, but there was steel under it.
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are." He stepped closer. The space closed quickly. I backed up instinctively.
"Why?" he asked. "Why are you avoiding me?"
"I… I just… I don't like—"
He reached out before I could finish. In one motion, he pinned me gently against the wall, his presence heavy and commanding. I felt the edge of panic.
"I need to understand," he said. His eyes bore into mine. "I can't just watch you slip away and pretend I don't notice."
I tried to push him back. Harder. My hands pressed against his chest, shoving.
"Get off!" I shouted.
His hold faltered just enough for me to break free. I twisted, shoved him once more, and sprinted out of the classroom. My heart hammered. My lungs burned. My hands trembled.
I did not look back.
I ran down the hall, ignoring the echoes of my shoes against the floor. I kept telling myself there was nothing between us. Nothing to feel. Nothing to care about.
I just needed to get away.