Nobody Knows

Chapter 11: Seen

The review session was supposed to be boring.

Fluorescent lights. Long tables. Open notebooks. Calculators clicking in uneven rhythm.

Instead, it felt like a test of self-control.

I chose a seat near the end of the table. Neutral territory. Safe distance from everything that had been feeling complicated lately.

And then Vhan sat beside me.

Not across.

Beside.

His knee brushed mine under the table before I even realized how close he was.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

He didn’t move.

“It’s fine,” I replied, eyes on my notebook.

It wasn’t fine.

Across from us, Cael was flipping through his notes, pretending not to notice anything. Or maybe he was noticing everything.

The tutor started explaining substitution techniques, voice steady and monotone.

“Focus,” I whispered to myself.

“You talking to me?” Vhan asked quietly.

“No.”

“You sure? You look like you’re fighting demons.”

“I’m solving integrals.”

“Same thing.”

His knee pressed lightly against mine again.

This time it wasn’t accidental.

I felt it.

Slow. Intentional. Testing.

I shifted slightly.

He shifted too.

Still touching.

“You’re distracting,” I muttered without looking at him.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You don’t have to.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Then tell me to move.”

My breath caught.

It would be easy.

Two inches.

That’s all it would take.

But I didn’t.

Across the table, Cael’s pen stopped moving.

I could feel it. The awareness. The silence stretching between the three of us.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Vhan continued softly.

“I’m listening.”

“To me?”

“To the tutor.”

He smiled. I didn’t need to look to know.

Under the table, his knee slid slightly higher along mine.

Electric.

Not enough to be obvious.

Enough to be felt.

“You’re cold,” he said quietly.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because you are.”

His hand moved.

Not grabbing.

Not bold.

Just resting lightly against the side of my thigh for half a second.

Gone before anyone could see.

But I felt it.

My pulse jumped.

Across from us, Cael finally looked up.

And this time, he wasn’t pretending.

My body reacted before my mind did.

I shifted my leg sharply, breaking the contact.

Not subtle.

Not gentle.

Just enough to send a message.

His knee slid away.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then he leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossing over his chest.

“Relax,” he murmured under his breath.

“I am relaxed,” I replied, still staring at my notebook.

“You look like you’re about to solve murder, not math.”

I didn’t respond.

Across from us, Cael’s eyes flicked between us once.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

The tutor kept talking, voice droning on about substitution and limits, completely unaware of the silent war happening at the end of the table.

Vhan tapped his pen lightly against the desk.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said quietly.

“I’m studying.”

“You weren’t this serious last week.”

Last week.

Before things shifted.

Before wrists were grabbed at crosswalks.

Before phone calls felt heavier than they should.

“I’m serious all the time,” I replied.

He huffed softly. “No. You’re controlled all the time. That’s different.”

The word landed wrong.

Controlled.

Like he was challenging it.

Across from us, Cael cleared his throat and slid his notebook slightly toward me.

“Sam,” he said calmly, “check this step. I think I missed something.”

His voice was steady.

Neutral.

But his eyes held mine for half a second longer than necessary.

I leaned forward to look at his solution, grateful for the interruption.

“Your bounds are wrong,” I said quietly.

“They are not.”

“They are.”

He stared at the page, then at me.

“Oh.”

I allowed myself a small smirk. “See?”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

Vhan watched the exchange, jaw tightening slightly.

“You two always like this?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cael answered before I could.

“No,” I said at the same time.

They both looked at me.

I swallowed.

“I mean— it’s just math,” I corrected.

Vhan leaned back again, studying me differently now.

Not teasing.

Not playful.

Observing.

Under the table, his knee didn’t return.

But the tension didn’t leave either.

It shifted.

Changed shape.

And I realized something uncomfortable.

I didn’t push him away because I wasn’t tempted.

I pushed him away because I was.

The session ended ten minutes later.

Chairs scraped. Notebooks closed. Conversations started up again as everyone packed their things.

Cael zipped his bag first.

“I’m heading to the library,” he said casually. “You coming?”

“I’ll catch up,” I replied without thinking.

His eyes flicked to Vhan.

Then back to me.

He hesitated for half a second.

“Don’t take too long,” he said.

It wasn’t a warning.

But it wasn’t neutral either.

He left.

The room emptied slowly until it was just us and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead.

I kept arranging my notes even though they were already aligned.

“You’re dramatic,” Vhan said quietly.

I didn’t look at him. “About what?”

“You know about what.”

I closed my notebook slowly.

“If this is about math—”

“It’s not about math.”

Silence.

He moved around the table so he was standing in front of me instead of beside me.

Closer.

Not touching.

Just close enough that I had to tilt my chin slightly to look up.

“You flinched,” he said.

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

I forced a small laugh. “You’re imagining things.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“I’m not stupid, Sam.”

The way he said my name felt heavier than usual.

“You act like nothing gets to you,” he continued. “Like you’re always in control.”

“I am.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

I swallowed.

“Why does it bother you?” I asked.

He held my gaze for a long second.

“Because last week you were laughing with me in my room. Tonight you act like I crossed a line just by existing.”

My heartbeat sped up.

“That’s not fair,” I said.

“Then what is it?” he pressed.

I stood up.

Too quickly.

My chair scraped loudly against the floor.

“There is no ‘it.’”

“There is,” he said immediately. “You just won’t say it.”

I grabbed my bag, slinging it over my shoulder.

“You’re overthinking.”

“You said that to Cael too.”

That made me pause.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Yeah,” he added quietly. “I noticed.”

Of course he noticed.

“You don’t get to interrogate me,” I said.

“I’m not interrogating you,” he replied, voice softer now. “I’m asking.”

“For what?”

“For honesty.”

That word again.

Honesty.

Truth.

Control.

Everything colliding.

“You don’t want honesty,” I said quietly. “You like the version of me that’s easy.”

His expression shifted.

“And what version is that?”

“The one that laughs. The one that doesn’t complicate things.”

“And what’s wrong with complicated?”

“You don’t want complicated,” I snapped.

“How do you know?”

Because complicated comes with secrets.

Because complicated comes with Brooke.

“You don’t,” I said instead.

The silence between us thickened.

He stepped closer.

Just one step.

“If I wanted easy,” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t be standing here.”

My breath hitched.

Dangerous.

That tone was dangerous.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” I whispered.

“Then tell me.”

He was too close now.

Not touching.

But close enough that I felt the warmth of him.

“Tell you what?” I challenged.

“What makes you pull away.”

My throat tightened.

Because I didn’t pull away from him.

I pulled away from what I felt.

And that was worse.

“I didn’t pull away,” I lied.

He held my gaze for three steady seconds.

“You did,” he said softly.

The room felt smaller.

Too bright.

Too honest.

I stepped around him.

“I have to go.”

“Sam.”

I stopped.

Not because he said my name.

Because of how he said it.

Not teasing.

Not playful.

Almost… careful.

“You don’t have to be untouchable all the time,” he said quietly.

Untouchable.

The word hit harder than I expected.

Because I wasn’t untouchable.

Not at night.

Never at night.

And suddenly I hated that he was closer to the truth than he realized.

“I’m not,” I said.

But it sounded weak.

I walked toward the door.

He didn’t grab my wrist.

He didn’t block my path.

He just watched.

And somehow that felt heavier than if he had stopped me.

As I stepped into the hallway, my chest felt tight.

Because this wasn’t about control anymore.

This was about fear.

And I wasn’t sure which scared me more.

Losing control.

Or letting him see me.

The hallway felt too long.

Too bright.

Too exposed.

I walked faster than usual, pretending I had somewhere urgent to be. My pulse still hadn’t settled from the conversation I just walked away from.

Honesty.

Untouchable.

Complicated.

The words clung to me.

I turned the corner near the staircase.

And nearly ran straight into him.

Lucas.

He stepped back slightly, surprised. “Whoa. Careful.”

My stomach dropped.

Of course.

Of course today wasn’t done with me yet.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, adjusting my bag strap like that would steady me.

He studied my face for a second. Not smiling. Not flirting.

Just observing.

“You’ve been avoiding eye contact,” he said.

“I haven’t.”

“You have.”

I forced a small laugh. “Why would I avoid you?”

He tilted his head slightly. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

My throat felt dry.

This wasn’t the bar.

This wasn’t dim lights and loud music and no consequences.

This was fluorescent hallways and passing students and my name echoing off lockers.

“What do you want, Lucas?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned back against the lockers casually, like he had all the time in the world.

“Relax,” he said. “I’m not here to expose you.”

My chest tightened.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His jaw flexed slightly.

“You really don’t remember that night?” he asked.

I did.

Too clearly.

The hotel sheets.

The warmth of skin.

The way I almost convinced myself it meant nothing.

“I remember,” I said quietly.

He nodded once.

“Then why are you acting like I’m a threat?”

Because you are.

Because you exist in daylight.

Because you know a name no one else should.

“You’re not,” I said.

“Good,” he replied. “Because I’m not trying to be.”

A group of students passed behind us. Laughter. Noise. Normalcy.

I kept my voice low.

“Then what are you trying to be?”

He looked at me differently then.

Less amused.

More serious.

“Honest.”

That word again.

I almost laughed at the irony.

“About what?” I asked.

“About the fact that I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said. “Like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like… this version of you.”

Sam.

Uniform. Tied hair. Controlled posture.

Not Brooke.

“And what version did you expect?” I challenged.

He held my gaze.

“The one who doesn’t look like she’s carrying the weight of the world.”

My breath hitched.

That was not the answer I expected.

“You don’t know me,” I said quickly.

“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But I’m not blind.”

Silence stretched between us.

“You don’t have to worry,” he added. “I’m not going to say anything.”

“I’m not worried.”

“You should work on that lie,” he said softly.

My fingers tightened around my bag strap.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Talking to me like we share something.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“We do.”

The word landed harder than it should have.

It wasn’t love.

It wasn’t attachment.

It was memory.

And memory can be dangerous.

“That night doesn’t mean anything,” I said.

His eyes darkened slightly.

“Did it not?”

I swallowed.

“It was just… a night.”

He studied me for a long second.

Then he nodded.

“Okay.”

But the way he said it told me he didn’t fully believe that.

He straightened from the lockers.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I don’t think you’re who you pretend to be here.”

My heartbeat stumbled.

“And who do I pretend to be?”

He stepped slightly closer.

“Careful.”

Not judgmental.

Just… observant.

“You’re wrong,” I whispered.

“Maybe,” he replied.

Then he stepped back, giving me space again.

“But if you ever get tired of pretending,” he added quietly, “you don’t have to look so scared when you see me.”

Scared.

That word stung.

“I’m not scared,” I said.

He smiled faintly.

“Then stop looking like you are.”

He walked past me.

Just like that.

No threat.

No exposure.

No dramatic reveal.

Just a reminder.

I stood there for a few seconds after he disappeared down the hall.

Because this is the problem.

Lucas knows Brooke.

Vhan wants honesty.

Cael sees through deflection.

And I am running out of space between those worlds.

For the first time, I realized something dangerous.

It’s not getting caught that terrifies me anymore.

It’s being understood.