Chapter Three
587 Words
They didn’t walk far. Just leaned against the car, the night wrapping around them. Campus was quieter now—couples whispering, guards pacing lazily, the distant sound of music from a hostel window.
“What are you watching these days?” he asked.
She blinked. “What?”
“On t****k,” he clarified. “What holds your attention?”
She hesitated. Then shrugged. “Random things. People living better lives. Couples. Soft girls. Rich men.”
She hadn’t meant to say the last part out loud.
Daniel’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “Rich men.”
She felt heat creep up her neck. “It’s just content.”
“Content reflects desire,” he said.
“And what does my desire say about me?” she asked defensively.
“That you want ease,” he replied. “Security. To stop worrying.”
She laughed softly. “You sound like my therapist.”
“You have a therapist?”
“No,” she said. “I have Wi-Fi.”
That made him chuckle—low, brief. The sound did something dangerous to her chest.
“You’re not like girls your age,” he said.
She stiffened. “Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because it always comes with expectations,” she said. “Or judgment.”
“Fair,” he admitted. “Let me rephrase. You’re more honest than most.”
She looked at him then. “So are you.”
“Am I?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” she said quietly.
His smile faded.
“That’s the problem,” he said.
They sat on the hood of the car now, not touching but close enough to feel each other’s presence.
“Why do you keep showing up?” Lina asked.
Daniel exhaled slowly. “Because I enjoy talking to you.”
“That’s not enough.”
“It should be,” he said. “But it isn’t.”
She swung her legs slightly. “You’re my father’s friend.”
“Yes.”
“You’re older.”
“Yes.”
“And you still text me at night.”
He turned to her fully. “And you reply.”
Her throat tightened.
That wasn’t fair.
“That doesn’t mean—”
“It means you want something,” he said gently. “Even if you don’t know what.”
She hated how calm he was. How controlled.
“What do you want?” she asked.
He was quiet for a long moment.
“Peace,” he said finally. “And maybe… distraction.”
She laughed softly. “That’s dangerous.”
“So are you,” he replied.
Their eyes locked.
The air shifted.
Something electric, fragile, forbidden.
Daniel straightened abruptly and stepped back.
“This is where I stop,” he said firmly.
Her heart dropped. “Why now?”
“Because if I don’t,” he said, voice low, “we cross something we can’t uncross.”
She slid off the hood, suddenly cold. “So you just disappear?”
“No,” he said. “I step back.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It’s not,” he said. “Disappearing is easy. Restraint isn’t.”
She didn’t respond.
Neither did he.
After a moment, he opened the car door.
“Go back inside, Lina.”
She hesitated, then nodded.
As she walked away, her phone buzzed.
A notification.
Instagram.
Someone had liked her story.
Daniel.
She stopped walking.
Didn’t turn around.
Didn’t smile.
But her heart was loud.
- Writer
