Pieces He Doesn’t Show
792 Words
The next day felt unreal.
Alina kept replaying last night in her head — Adrian showing up at the bookstore, holding Pride and Prejudice, asking for her recommendation. Asking for her.
Who was this version of him?
He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t performing. He was just... present. Stripped down, simple. And that, somehow, was more disarming than the charm he wore in public.
Alina didn't dare tell Mia every detail. Not yet. It felt too fragile, like saying it out loud would break the magic.
But her heart remembered. Every glance. Every soft word. Every brush of his sleeve against hers.
---
By the time literature class started again, the room buzzed with energy.
Alina slipped in quietly, only to find Adrian already seated — in her usual seat this time. When he saw her, he didn’t wait.
He reached out and pulled her notebook toward him. “You still owe me a reading list,” he said, smirking.
She raised an eyebrow. “We’re doing this now?”
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Might as well. Class won’t be interesting until the professor goes on her inevitable Shakespeare rant.”
Alina smiled despite herself. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Let’s just say Romeo needed better therapy and fewer metaphors.”
She laughed — and the sound turned a few heads. She immediately shrank into herself again, but Adrian didn’t stop smiling.
“Hey,” he said more softly. “You don’t have to shrink.”
She blinked.
He looked down. “I mean… I like your laugh. Don’t hide it.”
The words struck something deep inside her — a place too often filled with silence.
Before she could respond, the professor entered, and class began.
But she didn’t stop smiling.
---
After class, Adrian didn’t rush off like he usually did.
He walked with her again. Only this time, he seemed... distracted. Not in a distant way — more like something was weighing on him.
“Everything okay?” she asked as they crossed the campus lawn.
He hesitated, then gave a tight smile. “Just family stuff.”
Alina nodded. She didn’t pry — she knew the look of someone guarding themselves. She wore that same expression too often.
They stopped at the edge of the fountain near the student center. The wind tugged at her hair, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then he broke the silence.
“You ever feel like... you’re living someone else’s version of your life?”
Alina turned to him, startled by the rawness in his voice.
“I mean,” he continued, eyes on the water, “everyone expects you to be a certain way. Be charming. Be strong. Be perfect. And if you’re not, they look at you like you’re breaking the script.”
She said nothing for a moment. Then: “I feel that way all the time.”
He looked at her.
“I’m supposed to be quiet. Small. The girl in the background. I think people get uncomfortable when I take up space.”
Adrian’s jaw tensed. “Exactly.”
They stood there, two people shaped by expectations they never agreed to.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Alina said quietly.
Adrian let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years.
“Same goes for you,” he replied.
She smiled at him, soft and real.
And for a long moment, the world didn’t exist outside that conversation.
---
Later that evening, Alina was closing up at the bookstore when she heard the doorbell chime.
“We’re closed,” she called automatically, turning around.
It was Adrian.
Soaked from the rain. No umbrella. Just him — raw, tired, and breathing like he’d been running.
“Hey,” he said, voice low.
Alina froze. “Adrian… what are you doing here?”
He ran a hand through his wet hair. “I… I didn’t know where else to go.”
Her heart ached at the look on his face — not broken, but breaking.
“I got into a fight with my dad,” he muttered. “It was stupid. It always is. I’m just so tired of pretending to be who he wants.”
She took a step forward. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
His eyes met hers — and that’s when it happened.
Not a kiss.
Not a confession.
But something real.
He stepped closer. She didn’t move. He reached up and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear.
And whispered: “You feel like peace.”
Tears stung her eyes. Not from sadness.
From being seen.
- Writer
