You’re In My Head
1076 Words
Shay tried everything to get Cairo out of her head.
Hot showers. Lo-fi playlists. Cleaning her entire dorm room from top to bottom. She even tried reading one of her old comfort books—but nothing worked.
Because no matter what she did, the same scenes kept playing over and over in her mind. The way he leaned in. The way his voice dropped when he said, “I like knowing you care.” The way her body betrayed her with every heartbeat, every breath that got caught in her throat when he was near.
That night, she didn’t even make it to the library.
She needed a minute. Alone.
Instead, she stayed in, lights low, curled under her blanket with only her phone lighting the room. The quiet buzz of her fan was the only sound besides her own shallow breathing.
Cairo hadn’t texted again. And she hadn’t reached out either.
But he was everywhere in her mind.
The brush of his fingers. The heat of his stare. That soft, unreadable smirk like he already knew how much he was getting under her skin.
And God, she hated how much she liked it.
Her hand drifted beneath the blanket without thinking. She didn’t need a photo. Or a video. Just the thought of him.
The memory of his breath at her ear. His voice in the dark.
The image of his hands—strong, inked, confident—gripping her waist like she was something worth holding onto.
Her breath caught.
It wasn’t about him being perfect. He wasn’t. He was complicated. Guarded. Dangerous.
But somehow, that made her want him more.
Because he didn’t just make her feel wanted.
He made her feel seen.
⸻
The knock on her door came just before midnight.
Shay jumped, heart in her throat. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Her roommate was out for the night, and the building was usually dead quiet by now.
She tiptoed to the door and peeked through the peephole.
Cairo.
Of course.
He leaned against the frame, hoodie up, eyes shadowed by the low hallway light. There was something softer about him tonight—no swagger, no sharp edge. Just tired eyes and silence.
She opened the door but didn’t say anything.
He looked at her for a beat. “I was nearby.”
“That your way of saying you couldn’t sleep either?”
He gave a faint smile. “Something like that.”
She let him in, and he stepped quietly into her room like he didn’t want to disturb the energy already lingering there. He took off his hoodie, revealing a plain black t-shirt that clung just enough to remind her of everything she was trying not to think about.
They didn’t touch.
They didn’t need to.
The air between them was already thick with everything unsaid.
“I’ve been thinking about the other night,” Shay said as she sat on the bed.
Cairo stood by her desk, hands in his pockets. “Yeah?”
“You said your brother showed up again. You didn’t say what he wanted.”
Cairo’s face darkened slightly. “He wants to act like we’re cool again. Like the years in between didn’t happen. Like the way he left me behind didn’t matter.”
“What did he leave you in?”
Cairo exhaled, slow and hard. “A mess.”
He looked at her. “You ever have someone make you feel like you’re only worth loving if you’re fixed first?”
Shay’s breath caught.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Cairo nodded once. “Then you get it.”
He moved toward the bed, slow, deliberate. Sat beside her but didn’t look at her.
“I’m not proud of everything I’ve done, Shay.”
“Like what?”
“Like fighting. Running. Lying. Hurting people before they could hurt me.”
“Do you still do all that?”
He was quiet for a long time.
Then: “I’m trying not to.”
And somehow, that honesty—rough and imperfect—meant more to her than any clean-cut promise.
She reached for his hand.
This time, he held it.
And didn’t let go.
⸻
They sat like that for what felt like forever—his fingers wrapped around hers, their shoulders barely touching, breaths in sync. Shay wasn’t sure when the room got so quiet or when her heart stopped racing, but it did. Or maybe it just slowed in a way that felt safe.
Cairo turned toward her slightly. “You sure you want to deal with someone like me?”
She looked him dead in the eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
His gaze dipped to her lips, lingered for half a second too long, then flicked back to her eyes. “You have no idea how dangerous that is.”
“Maybe I like a little danger,” she whispered.
He laughed once under his breath—quiet and disbelieving. “I knew it.”
But he didn’t kiss her.
He leaned in like he might—but stopped, inches away. The space between them pulsed with heat, and Shay swore her skin hummed where his energy touched her.
“Say the word,” he murmured.
Shay’s lips parted, her breath catching. She wanted him. Wanted to feel him erase every doubt, every ache, every unanswered question that sat in her chest.
But then she blinked—and saw something flicker in his eyes.
A shadow.
Not lust.
Not hesitation.
Guilt.
She sat back slightly. “Cairo?”
He straightened, shoulders tensing again. “I should go.”
“What just happened?”
“I got too comfortable,” he said. “That’s not safe—for either of us.”
Shay stood too. “You’re pushing me away.”
“I’m protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From me,” he said. And this time, his voice cracked. “Because if you really knew everything I’ve done—you’d run.”
Her heart splintered.
She watched him walk to the door. Saw the part of him that was still trying to outrun his past, even as he reached for something softer.
He paused at the doorway.
“Goodnight, Shay.”
And before she could say anything—before she could tell him she wasn’t afraid—he was gone.
The door clicked shut.
And the ache he left behind?
It settled deep.
- Writer
