Before Him, After Him

Episode Four-- The Rules He Doesn't Say

Morning light poured through my blinds, too bright, too harsh.

The first thing I did when I opened my eyes was grab my phone. No new messages. Just the one from last night, sitting there like a secret I shouldn't have seen.

You shouldn't look at me the way you do.

Don't text back.

I traced the words on the screen with my thumb until my stomach knotted. What did he mean by the way I do? and why send it at all if he didn't want me to answer?"

By the time I walked into English, I'd convinced myself it didn't matter. I'd pretened like nothing happened. I'd keep my head down, do my work, stay safe.

But then he walked in.

Same hoodie. Same headphones arounf his neck. Same air that shifted the second he entered the room.

Asher Hale.

He didn't look at me. Not once. He dropped into the back row, pulled his hood lower, and stared at his desk like I wasn't even there.

And that was worse than the text.

Not once.

"Earth to Emery," Tessa hissed from beside me, nudging my notebook.

I jumped. "What?"

"You've been staring at the wall for ten minutes. Unless it's suddenly hot, I'm guessing this is about him."

I pressed my lips together, refusing to confirm.

Tessa smirked. "Yup. Knew it. You like him."

"I don't," I said too quickly.

She leaned closer. "Then why do you look like you're about to pass out every time he breathes?"

My cheeks burned. "I just--he's complicated."

"That's code for trouble," she said. "And trouble is never worth it."

The teacher called on me then, sparing me from answering. But my heart wouldn't stop pounding. Because maybe she was right. Maybe trouble wasn't worth it.

But I wasn't sure I had a choice anymore.

LUNCH

I was halfway to the cafeteria when I felt it--eyes on me.

Not the casual kind, the fleeting glances in the hallway. This was heavier, like someone could see right through my skin.

I turned.

Asher leaned against a locker across the hall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a crumpled piece of paper. He wasn't smiling, but there was something in his eyes... a dare.

Before I could move, he pushed off the locker and crossed the hall in three strides. The note was pressed into my hand before I even had time to breathe.

"Don't read it here," he murmured, so low only I could hear.

And then he was gone.

My fingers shook as I unfolded the paper inside the bathroom stall a few minutes later.

Rule #1: Don't follow me/

Rule #2: Don't ask questions you don't want answers to.

Rule #3: If you're smart, stay away from me.

My chest tightened. The handwriting was jagged, rushed, like the words themselves didn't want to exist.

And yet, at the very bottom, he'd written one more line.

But if you can't... meet me tonight. Same Place.

The swing.

I pressed the paper against my chest, my whole body trembling.

Because every warning he gave only made me want to break the rules more.

The paper burned a hole in my pocket the entire day.

Through math, through history, through the mindless chatter at lunch--I felt it there, sharp and heavy, like a secret pulsing against my leg.

By the time I got home, I'd unfolded it so many times the crease was starting to tear. Three rules. One choice.

Meet me tonight. Same place.

I told myself not to. I told myself Tessa would kill me if she knew. I told myself I was smarter than this.

But when the clock struck eleven and the house was quiet, I slipped my jacket on anyway.

The night air was cool, carrying the smell of damp grass and something faintly smoky. My footsteps crunched softly as I crossed the empty lot toward the park. The swing set creaked in the distance, the sound carried on the breeze like it was waiting for me.

And he was there.

Asher sat on the middle swing, hood pulled up, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. The smoke curled up into the darkness, disappearing into nothing.

"You came," he said, not surprised, not smug--just like he already knew I would.

"I shouldn't have," I admitted, hugging my jacket tighter.

"Then why did you?"

The question sliced through the air. I opened my mouth, closed it again. The truth was too messy, too loud in my head to say out loud.

Instead, I whispered, "I don't know."

He studied me, exhaling smoke slowly. The glow of the cigarette lit his face in flashes, sharp angles and shadows. "That's a lie."

I bit my lip. "Maybe I wanted to understand you."

That earned me a humorless laugh. "Bad idea."

He flicked the cigarette away, grinding it out beneath his boot. The silence that followed was thick, filed with everything unsaid.

Finally, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the ground. "You want the truth?"

My pulse quickened. "Yes."

His gaze lifted, pinning me in place. For the first time, his voice cracked slightly when he spoke.

"The truth is... you don't want to know me, Emery. Because once you do, you won't be able to unknown me. And that'll ruin everything for you."

The swing groaned as he stood, hands showed deep into his pockets. He moved past me, brushing close enough that my arm tingled where his sleeve brushed mine.

I turned, heart in my throat. "Then why invite ne here? Why warn me at all?"

He stopped, his back to me. The night air hung still, waiting.

"Because," he said quietly, almost like it hurt to admit, "part of me doesn't want you to stay away."

And then he walked off into the shadows, leaving me standing alone under the hollow creak of the swings, my world split wilder than before.

I didn't sleep.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the cracked lines stretching into shapes I couldn't name.

My body was exhausted, but my mind... my mind wouldn't stop.

His words replayd again and again.

Once you know me, you won't be able to unknow me.

That'll ruin everything for you.

Part of me doesn't want you to stay away.

They tangled around me like vines, pulling tighter every time I tried to break free.

At 2 a.m., I gave up and pulled out my journal. The page glared back at me, too white, too empty.

I should've stayed home.

My hand shook as I wrote it, pressing hard enough that the pen nearly tore through the paper.

I should've listened to Tessa. I should've followed the rules.

The words looked flat, like they belonged to someone else.

I flipped the page and started again.

But when he looked at me tonight, it didn't feel like danger. It felt like... someone finally sawme.

The truth sat heavy in the pit of my stomach.

Because wasn't that what I wanted? To be seen? To stop being invisible?

I dropped the pen, pressing my palms to my eyes until stars burst behind them.

The phone buzzed on my nightstand.

My chest clenched.

I grabbed it fast, heart racing. But it wasn't him. Just Tessa, texting way too late like she always did:

Tessa: u alive or did calc homework finally kill you?

Tessa: sleep dummy. Tomorrow we're getting coffee before class. My treat.

I typed back quickly:

Me: I'm fine. See you tomorrow.

I wanted to tell he reverything. About the note. About the swing. About the way Asher's words still echoed in my bones.

But I didn't.

I couldn't.

Because somehow, saying it out loud wouls make it more real.

And the truth? I wasn't ready to admit--even to myself---that maybe I was already too far.

The coffee shop smelled like cinnamon and burnt espresso, and it was already too loud.

Tessa waved me over from a corner booth, two steaming cups in front of her. "You look like death," she said, grinning like only she could get away with.

"Thanks," I muttered, sliding into the seat across from her.

Her grin faded. "No, seriously. Did you not sleep?"

I shrugged, focusing on the swirl of foam in my latte. Don't say his name. Don't say his name. Don't--

"Emery." Tessa leaned in, her dark curls bouncing forward. "You've got that look. The one where you're holding back something juicy. Spill."

My stomach tightened.

I could've told her everything. About the note in English class, about his voice low in the dark, about the way my heart wouldn't stop tripping over itself every time I replayed it all.

But the second I thought about putting it into words, it felt fragile, like saying it out loud would shatter it.

So instead, I stirred my latte and said, "I just... couldn't stop thinking. You know how I get."

Her eyes softened. She knew. She always knew.

"You've gotta get out of your head, Em," she said gently. "Half the time you're living in there instead of here." She tapped her cup against mine. "Which is why I'm dragging you to the football game Friday. No arguements."

I made a face. "I hate crowds."

"You'll survive. Besides, maybe you'll---" She smirked, leaning closer. "---meet someone."

I nearly choked on my drink. The irony was sharp enough to taste.

If only she knew.

If only she knew I'd already met someone. Someone I couldn't stop thinking about.

Someone who might ruin me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I froze.

Tessa didn't notice, too busy talking about what she was going to wear Friday. My fingers itched to check, but I forced them to stay wrapped around my cup.

If it was him...

If it wasn't him...

Either way, I wasn't ready.

So I sat there, nodding at Tessa's chatter, pretending to be normal, while inside my chest, the storm only grew louder.

The buzzing didn't stop.

Three times. Four. Then silence.

My hand twitched against the cup, but I didn't move. I was good at pretending. Good at swallowing things whole and locking them away. But this---this was different.

When Tessa left to grab napkins, I finally slid my phone out beneath the table.

One new message.

My breath snagged.

Unknown Number: You shouldn't stare the way you do. Someone might notice.

My whole body went still.

The air around me thickened, as if even the coffee shop chatter couldn't break through the weight of those words.

I looked up, heart pounding. The windos reflected back the warm glow of string lights, the blur of passing cars. No one watching. No one obvious.

I swallowed hard and shoved the phone back in my pocket before Tessa returned, her arms full of sugar packets.

"You okay?" she asked, sliding into her seat.

"Yeah." My voice cracked, but I force a smile. "Just tired."

She eyed me suspiciously, but let it drop, too busy tearing open a sugar packet.

But me?

I couldn't stop hearing the wirds again and again.

You shouldn't stare the way you do.

He knew.

He noticed.

And worse---he wasn't wrong.

This message burne din my pocket like it had teeth.

Tessa kept talking, her voice a blur, but I couldn't hold onto a single word. My pulse was too loud. My skin felt too tight.

I glanced at the window again, telling myself not to.

And froze.

Outside, across the street, someone leaned against a streetlamp. Half in shadow, half in light.

Black hoodie. Head tilted down. But even from here, I knew.

It was him.

The boy from English. The boy with eyes that saw too much.

My breath caught, sharp and painful.

As if sensing it, he lifted his head.

Our eyes met through the glass.

And even witht he distance, the traffic, the chatter of the coffee shop pressing in, it felt like the world went quiet. Like the moment split in half.

Before him.

After him.

Then--slowly, deliberately--he raised his phone, the glow of the screen pale against the dark.

My pocket buzzed again.

Hands trembling, I pulled out my phone. One new message.

Unknown Number: Don't trust anyone. Especially me.

My throat went dry. I looked back toward the streetlamp---

But he was gone.

Only the empty glow of the light remained, like he'd never beem there at all.

And in that silence, I knew my life had just shifted again.

Before him.

After him.

And whatever comes next.