Always you

CHAPTER 4 : WATCHING HER

(Daxon’s POV)

I always told myself I was done with high school drama. That I was over the past, that I could laugh, joke, and live without thinking about her. But life has a cruel sense of humour.

Because there she was.

Tamsyn Dane.

I saw her before anyone else did, standing just inside the cafeteria doorway, clutching her backpack strap like she wasn’t sure she belonged there. Her eyes scanned the room, and for a second, I wondered if she even noticed me. And then, as if sensing my gaze, she looked up.

Our eyes met.

Just for a moment, but enough. Enough to make my chest tighten and my throat go dry. Enough to bring back memories I’ve spent a year trying to bury. The late-night study sessions, the careless jokes, the stupid fights that I thought I’d gotten past — they all came rushing back like a flood I couldn’t stop.

I quickly looked away, pretending to be distracted by something on the table in front of me. My friends were sitting a few feet away, oblivious, laughing at some nonsense Nolan had said. I wanted to tell them to shut up, but my voice felt stuck.

Ryder leaned over, smirking. “Dude… you’re staring.”

“Not staring,” I said quickly, forcing a laugh that sounded too high. “Just… observing the cafeteria dynamics.”

Kai snorted. “Sure, ‘observing.’ Yeah, totally. We get it. You’re into someone again.”

I swallowed, keeping my expression neutral. “Not into anyone,” I muttered.

The lie felt heavy. It always does when it comes to her.

I tried to focus on my friends, on the conversation, on anything that could distract me. But my eyes kept drifting back to Tamsyn. She was sitting with Ashley now, chatting softly, laughing quietly. That gentle laugh — the one that always used to make my chest ache — hit me like a punch.

And Lexi.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me Lexi Hartman was scheming. Her gaze flicked between Tamsyn and me, a small smirk on her lips. She leaned back in her chair just enough to show off her perfect posture, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. She was trying to make me notice. I hated her for it, but more than that, I hated myself for caring at all.

Lunch passed in a blur of stolen glances. I was careful, pretending to be engaged in conversation, but I couldn’t ignore the way my chest kept tightening every time Tamsyn laughed or looked up. I wanted to walk over, talk to her, tease her like we used to, but some stupid voice in my head reminded me of the past — of how I’d hurt her, of all the times I hadn’t been the person she needed.

After lunch, the halls were a maze of students moving in every direction. I moved with my friends, joking and nudging each other, but my eyes tracked her every step. She had this natural grace, the kind that made people turn their heads without realising why. Even her bag — that overstuffed, slightly slouchy backpack — somehow looked perfect on her.

We passed each other near the lockers. She glanced up, I glanced away, and my stomach twisted. It’s stupid how much power she still has over me. It’s been a year. A whole year. And yet, the second I see her, every rational thought flies out the window.

Classrooms weren’t much better. I sat at the back with my friends, pretending to focus on Mr Lennox’s lecture about physics (who even cares?), But I couldn’t stop watching her from the corner of my eye. She sat two rows ahead, scribbling notes diligently, occasionally glancing at Ashley and smiling. There was something hypnotic about her — her focus, her quiet determination, the way she carried herself like she was both invincible and fragile all at once.

Lexi wasn’t far. She had strategically positioned herself to “accidentally” cross paths with me a few times. Every flicker of her gaze, every playful smirk, felt like a challenge I wasn’t willing to acknowledge. But I noticed. I always notice. And I would make sure Tamsyn saw it too, in a subtle way, to remind her that I was still here.

By the time school ended, my friends were joking about hitting the gym, grabbing snacks, or messing around with video games. I nodded along, laughing at their dumb jokes, but inside, I was a mess. Every memory of her, every stolen glance, every little smile she had, was replaying over and over in my head.

I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

When I got home, I went straight to my room, locking the door behind me. The quiet was almost painful. I dropped onto my bed, headphones in, music drowning out the silence, but not her voice. Not her laugh. Not the way she looked at me.

I rolled onto my side, staring at the ceiling. My mind wandered back to last year, to all the times I’d taken her for granted. The times I’d said something careless, the fights I hadn’t resolved, the stupid, selfish ways I’d acted. Every memory cut deeper than I wanted it to.

I muttered under my breath, barely audible: “Get over it, Asher. It’s just Tamsyn.”

The lie tasted bitter.

Because the truth was, it had never been just Tamsyn. And it never would be.

I rolled over again, grabbing my notebook. I started scribbling thoughts, fragments of feelings I couldn’t speak out loud. I wrote about her smile, about the way she made my chest tighten, about the guilt I carried like a weight I couldn’t set down. Writing helped, a little, but it didn’t erase the ache.

Sleep didn’t come easily. My mind refused to quiet itself. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her — the way she moved through the school, the way she laughed, the way she looked at me with a quiet, knowing glance.

I knew one thing for sure: this year wasn’t going to be easy.

And neither was ignoring her.