Chapter 6 – Every Glance Burns
The next morning didn't feel like a new beginning.
It felt like a continuation.
Like the night before hadn't ended—it had only paused.
I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection, trying to recognize the girl looking back at me. My hair was slightly messy, my eyes a little tired, but that wasn't what caught my attention.
It was the expression.
There was something different there. Something I couldn't quite name—but I could feel it.
Something restless.
Something… aware.
Aware of him.
I exhaled slowly, placing both hands on the edge of the dresser.
"You need to get a grip," I whispered to myself.
But the words felt empty.
Because no matter how many times I said it, it didn't change anything.
He was still there.
Not physically.
But in my mind.
In the way my thoughts kept drifting back to him without permission. In the way my body reacted to memories that shouldn't have had that kind of power over me.
It was frustrating.
And worse—
It was consuming.
I grabbed my bag and left the apartment earlier than usual, hoping that staying busy would help. Maybe if I filled my day with enough noise, enough distraction, I could drown out the thoughts of him.
But the moment I stepped outside, the cool morning air hitting my skin, I felt it again.
That subtle shift.
That awareness.
Like something was about to happen.
I shook my head lightly, brushing it off. "You're overthinking," I muttered.
And maybe I was.
But it didn't stop the feeling from settling deep in my chest.
The day dragged.
Every hour felt longer than it should have, every task more difficult to focus on. I found myself rereading the same lines, checking the same things twice, losing track of conversations halfway through.
And every time, it led back to the same thing.
Him.
The way he looked at me.
The way he spoke.
The way he stood so close, like distance didn't exist to him.
I pressed my lips together, trying to push the thoughts away.
This wasn't me.
I wasn't the kind of person who got distracted like this. Who let someone else take up so much space in my mind without permission.
And yet…
Here I was.
Lost in it.
By the time the day finally ended, I was exhausted—not physically, but mentally. Emotionally.
I stepped outside again, the evening air warmer now, softer, but it did nothing to calm the tension building inside me.
I should go home.
That was the logical choice.
But my feet didn't move right away.
Instead, I lingered.
And that was my first mistake.
Because the moment I looked up—
He was there.
Leaning casually against a nearby car, like he had been waiting. Like he knew exactly when I would step out.
My heart skipped.
For a second, I thought maybe I was imagining it again. But no—
He was real.
And he was watching me.
His eyes met mine instantly, dark and steady, and something about that look made my chest tighten.
Not surprise.
Not curiosity.
Certainty.
Like he knew I would react exactly like this.
Like he expected it.
I swallowed, forcing my feet to move, walking toward him slowly.
"You've been following me?" I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.
A faint smile touched his lips. "No."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Waiting."
The simplicity of his answer made my breath catch.
"For me?"
He didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Something about that hit deeper than it should have.
I crossed my arms lightly, more for comfort than defense. "You shouldn't do that."
"Why?"
"Because…" I trailed off, frustrated. "Because it's not normal."
He pushed himself off the car and stepped closer, closing the distance between us in a way that felt far too natural.
"Normal is overrated," he said quietly.
My breath hitched slightly.
There it was again.
That pull.
Stronger now.
More intense.
"You've been avoiding me," he added, his gaze never leaving mine.
"I've been busy," I replied quickly.
A lie.
And we both knew it.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me. "You don't look busy."
I frowned. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver through me, "you look distracted."
My heart started racing.
"Distracted by what?" I challenged.
His lips curved slightly.
"By me."
The confidence in his voice should have annoyed me.
It should have made me roll my eyes, argue, push back.
But instead…
It made my stomach tighten.
Because he wasn't wrong.
And that was the problem.
I looked away briefly, trying to regain some control. "You think too highly of yourself."
"Do I?"
I didn't answer.
Because if I did, I might say something I couldn't take back.
The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.
Then he moved again.
Closer.
Too close.
My breath caught as the space between us disappeared completely. I could feel the warmth of him now, the subtle heat radiating from his body, the faint scent that made my thoughts blur.
"Look at me," he said softly.
I hesitated.
But then I did.
And that was my second mistake.
Because the moment our eyes locked—
Everything else faded.
The noise of the street.
The passing people.
The world around us.
Gone.
It was just him.
And me.
And that look.
That intense, unwavering look that felt like it was peeling back every layer I had tried to keep hidden.
"You feel it," he said quietly.
It wasn't a question.
It was a statement.
My throat tightened.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied, but my voice lacked strength.
His gaze dropped briefly—to my lips, then back to my eyes—and that single movement sent a rush of heat through me.
"Yes, you do."
My pulse quickened.
I hated this.
Hated how easily he could read me.
How easily he could affect me.
How easily I reacted without thinking.
"You don't get to decide what I feel," I said, trying to sound firm.
"I don't have to," he replied calmly. "You're already showing me."
That hit harder than it should have.
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words didn't come.
Because deep down…
I knew he was right.
Every glance.
Every breath.
Every reaction.
It was all there.
Visible.
Obvious.
Burning.
He reached out slowly, his hand stopping just short of mine. Not touching. Not yet.
Just close enough.
"Then prove me wrong," he said softly.
My heart pounded.
"Step away."
The words hung in the air between us.
Simple.
Clear.
Possible.
All I had to do was take one step back.
That was it.
One step.
But my feet didn't move.
I stayed exactly where I was.
Frozen.
Caught.
Trapped in that invisible pull between us.
His gaze darkened slightly, noticing.
"Exactly," he murmured.
My breath came faster now, uneven, betraying everything I was trying to hide.
"This doesn't mean anything," I said quickly.
"Doesn't it?"
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know anymore.
And that scared me.
More than anything else.
Because losing control wasn't something I was used to.
But with him…
Control didn't feel like an option.
It felt like an illusion.
And with every glance, every second, every silent moment between us—
That illusion was breaking.
Slowly.
Completely.
And I wasn't sure I wanted to fix it.