Nobody Knows

Chapter 10: We

I woke up earlier than usual.

Not because of my alarm.

Because of a voice in my head.

Then let me.

I stared at the ceiling, pale morning light stretching across my room in soft lines. The words didn’t feel dramatic anymore. They felt steady. Warm. Like they had weight.

Last night had not been loud or reckless. No music. No red dress. No excuses.

Just him.

Just a conversation that felt closer than it should have.

I turned my head slowly toward my closet.

The red dress hung there, quiet and patient.

Waiting.

For a second, I just looked at it.

Then I reached for something else.

A simple blouse. Clean jeans. Nothing that made a statement.

When I caught my reflection in the mirror, I paused.

No heavy makeup. No practiced confidence.

Just me.

A little tired. A little uncertain.

I picked up my phone.

No message.

I told myself I wasn’t waiting.

I checked again anyway.

Still nothing.

It’s fine.

He doesn’t have to text.

He already said enough last night.

I slipped my phone into my bag and headed downstairs.

The house smelled like coffee and toasted bread. My parents were already seated at the table, quiet, composed, predictable.

“Good morning,” my mother said.

“Morning,” I replied, taking my seat.

My father glanced up from his phone. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep much.”

My mother studied my face for half a second. “You look better than yesterday.”

Better.

Like I had been something broken.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

The word tasted familiar.

Too familiar.

Breakfast passed in small, controlled conversation. Church plans. Work updates. Reminders about responsibility and time management.

I nodded at the right moments.

Smiled when expected.

But my mind was somewhere else.

Then let me.

I finished my coffee, stood up, and grabbed my bag.

“I’m leaving,” I said.

“Walk safely,” my father answered.

Always safely.

Always properly.

I stepped outside.

The morning air was cool, brushing lightly against my skin.

For a second, I just stood there at the gate.

The world felt… quieter.

Different.

Like something had shifted slightly overnight.

And I wasn’t sure if it was outside of me.

Or inside.

The gate creaked softly as I pushed it open.

And there he was.

Leaning against the low concrete wall across the street like he had nowhere else to be. Hands in his pockets. Head slightly tilted down, eyes unfocused, like he had been thinking.

When he heard the gate, he looked up.

Not surprised.

Not awkward.

Just… waiting.

“Good morning,” he said.

I stopped halfway down the steps. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, pushing off the wall. “Walking to school.”

“You don’t walk this way.”

“I do today.”

That simple.

No teasing tone. No grin. Just steady.

I adjusted the strap of my bag, suddenly too aware of everything. “You could’ve just met me at the corner.”

“I could’ve.”

“But you didn’t.”

He didn’t answer that.

Instead, he crossed the street and stopped in front of me. Not too close. Just enough that I had to look up slightly.

“You look better,” he said.

“Better than what?”

“Yesterday.”

My chest tightened.

“I told you I was fine.”

“I know.”

The way he said it made my stomach flip.

We started walking side by side. Not touching. Not speaking.

But not distant either.

“You didn’t text,” I said before I could stop myself.

He glanced at me. “I didn’t want to overdo it.”

“Overdo what?”

He shrugged again. “Showing up.”

My heart skipped.

The morning air felt cooler than usual.

“You think standing outside my house isn’t overdoing it?” I asked.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Depends. Did it bother you?”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

“No.”

He nodded once.

“Good.”

That word lingered longer than it should have.

The sidewalk narrowed as we turned the corner toward the main road.

A motorcycle sped past too close, forcing me to step inward. My shoulder bumped lightly against his arm.

Normally, I would have moved away immediately.

I didn’t.

He noticed.

I felt it in the way his arm shifted slightly, steadying without pulling back.

“Careful,” he murmured.

“I am careful.”

“Not when you’re thinking too much.”

I frowned. “I’m not thinking.”

“You always are.”

Another motorcycle passed, louder this time. Without hesitation, his hand hovered at my back.

Not touching.

Just there.

Protective.

The light at the pedestrian crossing flickered red.

Cars rolled forward impatiently.

When it turned green, we stepped out together.

Halfway across, a car edged too close to the line.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist.

Firm.

Warm.

He pulled me half a step toward him.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t rushed.

Just instinct.

“I can walk,” I said quietly.

“I know.”

But he didn’t let go immediately.

He only released my wrist when we reached the other side.

My skin felt warm where he had touched me.

“You’re cold,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Before I could react, his fingers brushed the back of my hand lightly.

Testing.

It was brief.

Casual.

But it wasn’t friendly the way it used to be.

It felt intentional.

“You didn’t pull away,” he said softly.

I swallowed. “You’re reading too much into things.”

“Am I?”

The question stayed between us longer than it should have.

I looked away first.

The school gates were only a few steps ahead, students crowding near the entrance, voices overlapping, laughter spilling into the morning air.

Normal.

Everything looked normal.

Inside, I wasn’t.

“You always do that,” he said lightly as we resumed walking.

“Do what?”

“Deflect.”

I scoffed. “You learned one word and now you won’t let it go.”

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You think I don’t notice?”

“Notice what?”

“When something shifts.”

My grip tightened around the strap of my bag.

He wasn’t accusing me.

That would have been easier.

He was just observing.

“You’re being dramatic,” I muttered.

“Maybe.”

We stepped inside the school grounds.

Students brushed past us, some nodding hello, some whispering about assignments, others half-asleep and uninterested in the world.

But the space between us felt sharper now.

Quieter.

“You didn’t answer me,” he said.

“About what?”

“Am I reading too much into things?”

I slowed down.

He stopped too.

I could still feel the ghost of his fingers around my wrist.

“You always read too much into things,” I said carefully.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is.”

He studied my face for a second too long.

And for a terrifying moment, I wondered what he would see if I didn’t look away.

Then—

“Well, well.”

The voice came from ahead.

Vhan was leaning against the low wall near the entrance, arms folded, watching us approach.

His eyes flicked down briefly.

To my wrist.

Then back up to my face.

“You two look intense this morning,” he said, smirking.

Cael didn’t move away from me.

“Morning,” he replied evenly.

Vhan pushed himself off the wall and stepped closer.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked casually.

“No,” I said too quickly.

Cael’s shoulder brushed mine again.

Accidental.

Maybe.

“Nothing to interrupt,” Cael added.

Vhan’s gaze lingered on me.

“You sure?” he said softly.

My heartbeat picked up.

There it was again.

Two different energies.

Cael steady. Watching.

Vhan sharp. Probing.

“I’m sure,” I said.

Vhan held my gaze a second longer before stepping back.

“Alright,” he said. “Just checking.”

He turned toward the building.

“Don’t be late,” he added over his shoulder.

We stood there for a second after he walked away.

“You okay?” Cael asked quietly.

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t respond immediately.

Then, softer—

“You don’t always have to say that.”

And that felt more dangerous than anything else that morning.

I walked the rest of the way to the classroom without really seeing where I was going.

Voices blurred around me.

Lockers slamming. Footsteps. Laughter.

Normal.

Everything looked the same as yesterday.

So why did it feel like something had shifted overnight?

It was just a wrist.

Just a hand pulling me away from a car.

He’s done that before.

When we were younger. When I used to run without looking. When I tripped over nothing.

Back then it was careless.

Today it felt… deliberate.

That’s the difference.

He didn’t grab me because I was clumsy.

He grabbed me because he was watching.

Because he was paying attention.

And I didn’t pull away.

Not immediately.

I replayed the moment in my head.

The firmness of his fingers.

The way he said, “I know,” when I told him I could walk.

Like he trusted me.

But still chose to hold on.

Why did that stay with me?

It shouldn’t.

He’s Cael.

He’s safe.

He’s familiar.

He’s not supposed to make my chest tighten.

That’s not our dynamic.

Our dynamic is jokes. Sarcasm. Comfort.

Not silence that feels loaded.

Not glances that linger half a second too long.

And definitely not whatever that was when he said I didn’t pull away.

I hate that he notices things.

I hate that he’s right.

And I hate that a part of me doesn’t want him to stop.

Then there’s Vhan.

Electric.

Easy to blush around.

Easy to tease.

Easy to pretend it’s harmless.

But standing between them this morning felt different.

Like they were suddenly aware of each other in a way they weren’t before.

Like they both sensed something had moved.

And I was the thing that moved.

I reached the classroom door and paused for half a second.

Two names.

Sam.

Brooke.

Two versions.

And now maybe something else forming in between.

Not reckless.

Not hidden.

Just… exposed.

I don’t know which one scares me more.

The version of me that sneaks out at night.

Or the version that stays.

And lets someone see.