Chapter 4 – The First Chapter
1369 Words
The blank page stared back at me.
Waiting.
Leo sat across from me, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He had given me the pen, given me control—for now.
But the weight of his presence made it impossible to ignore the unspoken truth between us.
This wasn’t just writing.
It was digging.
And whatever I uncovered… I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.
I exhaled, gripping the pen. “Alright. Let’s start.”
Leo didn’t respond, but his gaze never left me.
So, I wrote.
---
The Words That Shouldn’t Exist
At first, it was just ink on paper.
The protagonist’s name. His pain. His obsession.
I shaped the story with careful strokes, letting the words form the emotions he couldn’t express. The longing, the guilt, the way he watched her from afar, knowing he shouldn’t.
And then—
My hand stopped.
Because before I even realized it… I had written something that wasn’t mine.
“She was never meant to be mine.”
My breath hitched.
That was what Leo had written in his notebook.
I looked up, my heart pounding. “Leo—”
But before I could finish, he reached forward, grabbing the page I had just written.
His fingers tightened around the paper, his expression unreadable.
Then, in a voice so low it sent a shiver down my spine, he murmured—
"You shouldn’t have written that."
My pulse quickened.
"You shouldn't have written that."
Leo’s grip on the page tightened, his jaw clenching as if the words I had just put on paper had struck a nerve.
“But… I didn’t mean to,” I murmured, staring at the ink. “It just—came out.”
His eyes darkened. “That’s the problem.”
A thick silence stretched between us.
Then, without warning, he tore the page in half.
I gasped. “Hey—”
“Start over,” he said coldly, pushing a fresh sheet toward me.
My heart pounded. “Leo, what’s wrong with those words? Why do they feel like they—”
“Because they don’t belong to the story.” His voice was sharp, final. “And yet… you wrote them.”
I swallowed hard.
I wasn’t stupid.
This wasn’t just about the book.
This was about her.
Whoever she was—the woman Leo couldn’t forget, the woman this story was really about.
I gripped the pen tighter, my hand trembling slightly. “Fine. I’ll start over.”
Leo leaned back, watching me like a predator waiting for my next move.
I forced myself to focus.
New page. Clean slate.
But as I put the pen to paper, a terrifying thought crept into my mind—
Was I really writing a book?
Or was I unraveling a secret that was never meant to be found?
I took a deep breath and started again.
This time, I was careful.
I wrote only what made sense for the story—no stray thoughts, no words that felt like they came from somewhere else. Just the plot. Just the characters.
But even as I wrote, I felt Leo’s gaze on me.
Watching.
Waiting.
For what? I wasn’t sure.
---
A Dangerous Thought
Minutes turned into hours.
The silence between us was thick, broken only by the scratch of my pen against paper.
I could feel the story taking shape—the protagonist’s obsession, his growing desperation. And the woman…
She was still a mystery.
Her name, her face—I hadn’t decided yet. But the way he felt about her? That part came effortlessly.
Like a hunger he couldn’t control.
Like she was his oxygen, even if breathing her in would destroy him.
I stopped, my hand hovering over the page.
Why did this feel so… real?
I glanced up at Leo.
His expression was unreadable, but there was something about the way he looked at me—like he already knew what I was thinking.
Like he had been waiting for me to figure it out.
I swallowed. “Leo… this character. He’s based on you, isn’t he?”
Silence.
Then—
A slow, knowing smirk.
“What do you think?”
I gripped the pen tighter.
I already knew the answer.
And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know more.
Leo’s smirk didn’t fade.
I could feel it pressing against me like a challenge.
My fingers curled around the pen. “So, you’re not even going to deny it?”
He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. “Why should I?”
I swallowed hard.
This was dangerous. I could feel it in my bones.
Because if the protagonist was based on Leo…
Then the woman—the one he was obsessed with, the one he couldn’t let go of—
Who was she?
A chill ran down my spine. “And the girl?” I asked carefully. “The woman he’s obsessed with?”
Leo tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
Then, after a long pause, he said—
“Maybe you should tell me.”
My heart stopped.
The way he said it…
Like he was waiting for me to figure it out.
Like I was already part of this story, whether I wanted to be or not.
I forced myself to breathe. “Leo—”
But before I could finish, he reached for the notebook and flipped through the pages I had just written.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he murmured—
"You're getting too close."
A shiver ran through me.
Too close to what?
The truth?
Or him?
"You're getting too close."
Leo’s words sent a shiver down my spine.
I clenched my fists, trying to ignore the tension building between us. “Close to what, Leo?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he flipped through the pages I had written, his fingers moving slowly, as if he were searching for something.
Then he stopped.
His gaze lingered on a single sentence I had written.
“He wanted her, even when he knew he shouldn’t.”
The air between us grew heavier.
I swallowed hard. “Leo—”
“Why did you write this?” His voice was calm, too calm.
I hesitated. “Because… that’s how he feels. He knows he shouldn’t want her, but he does anyway.”
Leo’s jaw tightened. “And you think that’s just fiction?”
I blinked. “Isn’t it?”
A long silence.
Then, slowly, he slid the notebook back toward me.
“Keep writing,” he said. “Let’s see how deep you can go.”
His words felt like a dare.
I gripped the pen, my pulse racing.
Because suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I was writing a story…
Or unraveling a secret neither of us was ready to face.
I stared at the notebook in front of me, Leo’s challenge hanging in the air.
"Keep writing. Let’s see how deep you can go."
It should’ve been simple. Just words on a page.
But the way he looked at me—the weight of his gaze—made it clear.
This wasn’t just about the story anymore.
This was about us.
---
A Dangerous Game
My grip on the pen tightened.
I could feel Leo’s presence, watching, waiting, as I forced myself to focus.
Fine. He wanted me to write? Then I would.
I pressed the tip of the pen to the page and let the words flow.
“He knew it was wrong. Knew he shouldn’t touch her, shouldn’t look at her the way he did. But self-control had never been his strong suit. Not when it came to her.”
The moment the sentence was complete, I felt it.
The shift in the air.
I glanced up—
Leo’s eyes were darker than before, his expression unreadable.
I swallowed. “Is this what you wanted?”
His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Then, after what felt like forever, he finally spoke.
"Keep going."
A shiver ran through me.
Because now, I wasn’t sure if he meant the story—
Or something else entirely.
- Writer
