The boy that never loves me back

Chapter 3 — The Silence Between Us

The campus felt different that morning.

Not because anything had changed… but because I had changed.

I walked through the corridor holding my bag tighter than usual, my thoughts still trapped in yesterday’s words.

“You shouldn’t look at me.”

Daniel’s voice didn’t sound angry when he said it.

That was the worst part.

It sounded like a fact. Like something he already knew would happen before I even tried.

I tried to convince myself it didn’t matter.

So what if he was distant? So what if he didn’t care?

But my mind refused to listen.

Because somewhere between his silence and his warning… I had started paying attention to him in a way I couldn’t undo.

When I entered the lecture hall, my eyes found him immediately.

Same seat.

Same hoodie.

Same unreadable expression.

But today, something felt heavier.

Maybe it was me.

I walked past slowly and sat two rows ahead, pretending I didn’t notice him.

The lecture began, but I couldn’t focus.

Words entered one ear and left the other.

Instead, I became aware of small things.

The sound of pages turning.

The tapping of pens.

And behind me… his silence.

Not empty silence.

His kind of silence.

The kind that feels like someone is there, but not really there at all.

At some point, I felt it.

That strange awareness.

Like eyes were on me.

I hesitated before turning slightly.

Not fully.

Just enough.

And for a second—just a second—I caught it.

Daniel was looking at me.

Not at the board.

Not at his book.

At me.

My heart jumped so fast I almost forgot how to breathe.

But the moment our eyes nearly met—

He looked away.

Like it never happened.

Like I imagined it.

My fingers tightened around my pen.

Did he just… look at me?

Or was I finally losing my mind?

The lecture ended quickly after that.

Students rushed out, noise filling the room again.

I stayed behind longer than necessary.

So did he.

I noticed it when I stood up.

He wasn’t leaving immediately.

He was still sitting there.

Still quiet.

Still distant.

Then suddenly, his chair moved.

He stood up and walked past me without looking.

I don’t know why I did it.

Maybe curiosity.

Maybe frustration.

Maybe something deeper I wasn’t ready to name.

“Daniel,” I called softly.

He stopped.

Not turned.

Just stopped.

That alone made my chest tighten.

For a moment, I thought he would ignore me.

But he didn’t walk away.

He waited.

Silence stretched between us.

Heavy. Uncomfortable. Real.

“I just… wanted to ask something,” I said carefully.

No response.

He didn’t turn.

But he didn’t leave either.

That was worse.

I swallowed.

“Do you always push people away like this?”

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

The air changed immediately.

Even the noise outside the classroom felt far away.

For a moment, I thought I crossed a line.

Then I saw it.

His shoulder moved slightly.

A small reaction.

Not anger.

Not surprise.

Something closer to discomfort.

Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t push people away.”

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

He turned just slightly—not fully facing me, but enough for me to see part of his profile.

“I just don’t let them come closer.”

That sentence stayed in the air longer than it should have.

My throat tightened.

“Why?” I asked, softer now.

He didn’t answer immediately.

This time, the silence felt different.

Not empty.

Heavy with something unsaid.

Then he said it.

“I’ve seen what happens when people get too close.”

That was all.

No explanation.

No story.

No detail.

Just that.

And somehow… it was enough to make my chest ache.

Before I could say anything else, he walked away.

This time, I didn’t stop him.

I just stood there.

Watching his back disappear into the corridor crowd.

And for the first time…

I didn’t feel like I was chasing a boy.

I felt like I was chasing a shadow that didn’t want to be found.

That night, I couldn’t stop thinking about his words.

“I don’t let them come closer.”

What kind of life makes someone say that?

I turned on my side in bed, staring at the dark ceiling again.

But this time, I wasn’t just thinking about a boy.

I was thinking about a wound.

And how deep it must be…

for someone to build a wall that strong.

Somewhere in my chest, something dangerous began to grow.

Not love yet.

Not fully.

But something close.

Something that felt like it was already too late to stop.