TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT
372 Words
đź“– CHAPTER TWO
Too Close for Comfort
Aisha arrived the next afternoon right on time.
Daniel noticed immediately.
She stood at the gate with her notebook pressed to her chest, scanning the compound as though she was afraid of stepping into the wrong world. When she saw him, her shoulders relaxed a little.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted.
“Afternoon,” Daniel replied, already walking ahead. “The study room is inside.”
She followed quietly.
That silence should have made things easier, but instead it made Daniel aware of everything—the sound of their footsteps, the distance between them, the way she smelled faintly of vanilla and paper.
They sat across from each other at the table.
“So,” Aisha began, opening her notebook, “your mother said you’re struggling with mathematics.”
Daniel scoffed lightly. “Struggling is an exaggeration.”
She smiled. Not mocking. Not impressed. Just calm.
“Alright,” she said. “Then let’s confirm that.”
As they worked through the questions, Daniel realized something uncomfortable.
She was good.
Not just smart—but patient. When he made mistakes, she didn’t rush him or sound disappointed. She explained again, slower this time, her finger tracing the numbers on the page.
At one point, she leaned closer to correct an equation.
Too close.
Daniel stiffened.
Her sleeve brushed his arm, and for a second, he forgot the question entirely. He pulled back slightly, clearing his throat.
“You can just explain,” he muttered. “I see it.”
Aisha paused, clearly sensing the shift. “Sorry,” she said softly, moving back to her seat.
The rest of the lesson passed awkwardly.
When they were done, she packed her books quickly. “I’ll come again tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” Daniel replied. “That’s fine.”
She hesitated at the door, then turned back. “You’re actually very capable,” she said. “You just doubt yourself.”
Before he could respond, she left.
Daniel sat alone, staring at the unfinished page.
Doubt wasn’t what troubled him.
It was the fact that someone temporary—someone who wasn’t part of the plan—had already begun to feel dangerously permanent.
- Writer
