Smoke and silk
1387 Words
Chapter Four:
The cafeteria smells like burnt coffee and leftover fries. It’s not exactly charming, but it’s better than pretending I’m interested in the welcome week flyers plastered across every hallway.
I sit at the far corner of the room, near a window that overlooks the quad. My tray holds a half-eaten chicken sandwich and a carton of chocolate milk, which I’m pretending makes me nostalgic. It doesn’t. I didn’t get to have a normal high school experience, and cafeteria lunches were never part of the plan.
Still, there’s something oddly comforting about the white noise of this place—chatter, clinking forks, someone’s phone blasting a t****k song they’ll swear wasn’t on loud. Normal.
I need normal.
Cassie’s in class. I begged off, faking a headache I didn’t need to fake. I just needed air. Space. Something that doesn’t come wrapped in red Solo cups or cloaked in shadows and silk.
Across from me, a girl with curly braids and a sketchpad glances up. “You’re new, right?”
I blink. “Yeah. Ayla.”
She nods. “Maya. I’ve seen you around with Cassie. You’re braver than me.”
I laughed. “Why?”
“She’s got that main-character energy. Like she bites people for fun.”
“That sounds… accurate.”
Maya grins, then returns to her sketchpad. She’s drawing faces. Angular, sharp, shaded with confidence. I wonder if mine will end up in her notebook. If she’ll remember me once I disappear again.
“Are you into art?” she asks casually, still sketching.
“Not really. I write.”
“Ooh, mysterious. Like poetry?”
“More like… things that should probably stay in journals.”
“That’s the best kind.”
We fall into a surprisingly easy rhythm. Talking about random things—classes we haven’t picked yet, the weird guy who stands outside the science building offering people “a free aura cleanse,” and whether the vending machines are rigged.
It feels normal.
Until the air shifts.
I didn't see him at first. I felt him.
Like before a storm, when everything goes too still and the hairs on your arms rise.
Then I hear the laughter.
Low, masculine, confident. It carries across the cafeteria like a ripple. A table near the center fills with a small crowd, three guys, two girls, all dressed too well for lunch hour. They don’t wait in line like everyone else. A guy with dark curls and a half-buttoned shirt grabs a bottle of water and just waves at the lunch staff like they owe him.
They probably do.
And at the center of it of course is Luca.
He’s dressed in black again. Not fancy. Just… sharp. His sleeves are rolled to the elbow, revealing ink on his left forearm, letters I can’t make out. He’s laughing at something the girl beside him says, but his eyes aren’t on her.
They’re on me.
The moment stretches.
Maya follows my gaze and frowns. “You know him?”
“Not really.”
“You look like you do.”
I don’t reply.
Because Luca stands, murmurs something to his group, and then—without any hesitation—walks toward me.
Maya straightens. “Uh… is he coming over here?”
“Apparently.”
“Okay, I’m staying. I want to witness this. If I die, you’re drawing my face later.”
I want to tell her to run. I want to run.
But I don’t move.
“Luca stops at our table, and the surrounding air tightens.
He doesn’t say a word at first. He just looked at me. Not curious. Not friendly. Focused.
His eyes skim over Maya like she’s background noise. No acknowledgment. No nod. Nothing.
Then, to me: “You weren’t at Smoke last night.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I thought you might show it.”
I stared back at him, trying to mask the jolt in my chest. “You seem to expect me everywhere lately.”
“You stand out,” he says, voice low and flat.
Maya shifts beside me, visibly uncomfortable. She gives a nervous laugh. “Uh, okay…”
Luca doesn’t even glance at her. His presence alone is suffocating now. Calm, collected, and vaguely threatening, like he’s sizing up the room for exits, just in case.
“I’m going to go,” Maya mutters, grabbing her tray. “I just remembered I have, um, tutoring.”
She doesn’t wait for a response, just bolts, eyes wide.
I watch her leave, then turn back to him. “You’ve got a real talent for scaring people off.” His expression doesn’t change. “I don’t like noise.”
“You mean people?”
“Same thing.”
He slides into the seat across from me with the kind of confidence that says he doesn’t care if he’s welcome. He takes his time, settling in. Watching me.
“What do you want?” I ask, folding my arms.
“Conversation.”
“From someone you supposedly don’t know?”
"You scribble in the back pages when you think no one’s paying attention.” You never eat the crust on your sandwiches. You use the wrong side of your key card twice before you flip it.”
I stiffen.
“You watch me?” I ask, colder now.
He tilts his head slightly. “I notice patterns.”
“That’s not noticing. That’s stalking.”
His lips twitch, but not in amusement. “If I were stalking, you’d never know.”
A pause.
The table feels too small suddenly. The space between us is thick with something I can’t name.
“Why me?” I ask.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, eyes locked on mine. "Because you move like you’re hiding something.” And people like that… usually have something to hide.”
My spine stiffens. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“No,” he says. “But I want to.”
“Why?”
"Because you don’t look dangerous—but something tells me you are. Or that danger follows you."
My breath catches. “That sounds like a threat.”
He holds my gaze. “It’s a choice.”
I sit there frozen for a second, my heart pounding like it’s trying to outrun him from the inside.
“You scare people,” I whisper.
“I’m not here to be liked.”
“You think fear earns you respect?”
“No. Fear earns silence. Respect comes later.”
I shake my head. “And what about me? Am I supposed to be silent?”
He finally leans back, eyes never leaving mine. “No. You’re supposed to be careful.”
That lands hard, like a subtle bullet. Quiet but deadly.
I rise slowly, grabbing my tray. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do have something to hide.”
His expression doesn’t change. But I see something flicker. Something unreadable.
“Then we’re the same,” he says.
I don’t respond.
As I walk away, I can feel him watching me.
Not like he wants to stop me.
Like he knows he won’t have to.
That night, Cassie threw a hairbrush at me.
“You talked to him? At lunch? Without me?”
“It wasn’t planned,” I say, dodging the next object she might hurl.
“What did he say?”
“Not much.”
“Bullshit.”
I sink onto my bed. “He just… sat down.”
Cassie’s eyes narrow. “He never does that.”
“Maybe he was bored.”
“He doesn’t get bored. He chooses.”
The room feels heavier now.
“I think he’s dangerous,” I say.
Cassie exhales. “He is.”
“But not in the way people think. It’s not loud. It’s quiet. The kind of danger that sneaks up on you.”
She looks at me like she already knows where this is going.
“And yet,” I say,
“I didn’t move.”
Cassie doesn’t speak for a long time.
Then she says, “I need to tell you something.”
I look up.
“I used to be close to Luca.”
I freeze.
“What kind of close?”
“The kind that ruins you.”
- Writer
