The Real Me

Chapter 13. Unscripted Moments

Anastasia's Pov

“Can I ask you something?” Gilbert’s voice broke the comfortable silence as we strolled toward the lovers' bench beside the classroom block.

I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head at his predictable nature.

"I thought you said no talking," I teased.

"Yeah, I did, but something just popped into my head, and I really want to know," he said, settling onto the bench.

I lingered behind him, resting my hands on the backrest, my curiosity piqued.

“What is it?” I asked, glancing at my phone.

I tapped the screen, checking for missed calls.

My stepfather was supposed to reach out, and I had a habit of putting my phone on silent without realizing it.

“Are you expecting a call?” He studied me, then shifted his gaze to my phone, his tone taking on an edge that felt almost commanding.

“Um, no. I mean, my dad is supposed to call me, that’s why,” I stammered, heat creeping up my cheeks. I felt foolish for my uncertainty.

“Okay, then come sit down.” He patted the spot beside him, and I hesitated for just a moment before sliding onto the bench.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” I asked, eager to redirect the focus.

“Well, I told you I want to know more about you, but you changed the subject last time. So here I am again—tell me something about yourself that I don’t know.”

“Okay… what do you want to know?”

I met his gaze, taking a moment to absorb the sight of him—his Barcelona jersey hugging his frame, paired with wine-colored shorts.

Did he really support Barcelona, or was it just a style choice? Football wasn’t my thing.

I had no allegiance to any team; I was more of a loner.

“Anything you’re comfortable sharing,” he replied, and as our eyes locked, I caught the playful smirk on his lips.

My heart raced, and I quickly looked away, taking a deep breath to steady myself.

“Well… I’m a quiet person, and I like myself,” I said, laughing at the silliness of my own response.

Gilbert chuckled, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Really, Ana? Okay, what more?” he mused, leaning in slightly.

“And I can sing. I mean, I like music,” I added, my voice more serious now, even though I was lying about the singing part.

I was awful at it—my own voice could make me faint. But I did have a passion for music.

“Oh wow, so what kind of music do you like?” He leaned back, clearly intrigued, and I felt a flutter of excitement at his interest.

"I don’t know, I like any music that’s interesting to me," I replied casually, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Okay, that’s good. So your favorite artist is Tommy Lee?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

The name caught me off guard, and I raised an eyebrow. I didn’t have a favorite artist; if a song resonated with me, it found a spot in my playlist.

"No," I shook my head, a small smile creeping onto my lips.

"I don’t really have a favorite artist. I just appreciate good music, regardless of who makes it."

Gilbert chuckled, his amusement evident as he shook his head in disbelief. "You’re not serious."

I grinned, placing my phone down on the bench, feeling the weight of the conversation shift.

"I want to know something," I said, fixing my gaze on him.

"Go ahead. Remember, you can ask me anything," he encouraged, reaching for my hand resting on my lap.

I pulled it back slightly. He withdrew his hand quickly, his eyes questioning.

"I...I'm fine," I said, shifting in my seat.

Gilbert picked up my phone instead, his fingers brushing against mine. I wondered what he planned to do with it but chose to remain silent, my mind racing with unasked questions.

"What did you want to ask me?" he asked, his eyes locking onto mine with a curious intensity.

"Um, it's nothing serious, just forget about it," I replied, trying to dismiss the thought.

"Nooo, I'm not forgetting about anything. So go ahead and tell me," he insisted, leaning forward slightly, his eagerness palpable.

"Are you sure? It's about Bridget," I hesitated, gauging his reaction.

His expression shifted; he dropped my phone onto the bench, his full attention now on me.

"What about her?"

"She said you shouldn't take long—" I began, but before I could finish, my phone rang.

I glanced down at the screen, my heart sinking as I recognized the caller.

"Um, excuse me," I said, fumbling to answer the call.

"Hello?" I spoke, my tone deliberately neutral, masking the tension that twisted in my stomach.

"Hello, Anas. How are you?" my stepfather's voice came through, crisp and formal.

The conversation stretched on for three minutes, but I barely heard his words.

My eyes flickered back to Gilbert, only to find him aiming his phone at me, capturing candid shots of my surprise.

In a flash, I raised my hands and shielded my face, panic flooding my veins.

"No, no! Stop!" I exclaimed, the heat of embarrassment creeping up my cheeks.

I hated taking pictures; the thought of how I looked on camera made me cringe.

Whenever I glanced at my reflection, all I could see were the flaws and insecurities that clouded my self-image.

People often told me I was beautiful, but those words felt like empty echoes in my mind.

Unlike my junior sister, with her toned physique and effortless grace, I felt out of place, a shadow lingering in the background.

"You spoiled the picture! You should have stayed still," he grumbled, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

I shot him a glare, my heart racing.

How dare he complain?

I was the one caught off guard, my face buried in my hands, trying to hide from the camera's intrusive lens.

"Let me see," I said, my voice steady but my mind racing.

If I could just get my hands on his phone, I could delete those pictures before he had a chance to protest.

But he knew me too well; he could probably read my intentions as easily as an open book.

"Don't even think about deleting them," he smirked, the glint in his eye telling me he was fully aware of my plan.

"Why would you even take pictures of me? Did I ever say I wanted any?" My annoyance bubbled over, and I crossed my arms defiantly.

"Because I want to have your picture on my phone," he replied, his tone light, but there was an intensity behind his gaze.

"Would you have let me if I had asked?"

Of course not.

But I nodded anyway, a lie slipping easily from my lips. "Yeah."

"Okay, then pose! Let me take a picture," he said, raising his phone again.

What was wrong with him today?

My stomach twisted with a mix of embarrassment and irritation.

I couldn't bear to be the focus of his lens.

With a quick decision, I shot to my feet and bolted away from him.

I glanced back, and there he was, staring at me in confusion, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity, clearly not understanding my sudden retreat.

"Hey!" he shouted, his voice echoing behind me.

I could feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck as those around campus look at me like I've lost my mind as I raced towards the dorm, my heart pounding in my chest.