Chapter 003
865 Words
Emma was in line, staring blankly at the chalkboard menu, before she remembered the walk from Hollister Hall to the café. His eyes on hers was the image that kept repeating in her mind like a skipping record. He was merely observing, without any evaluation or motivation.
On her most recent paper, he had written, "You see too much." She took it to be a criticism at the time. She wasn't so certain now.
"I would like a very hot chai with one pump of vanilla and grandeoat milk."
Emma's eyes blinked. The barista was observing her with a hint of worry.
Oh. Yes. Apologies. She took out her student ID, paid, and moved aside as Clara James unexpectedly showed up with her signature dramatic timing.
Clara slid her oversized tote bag onto the table by the window and pulled her curls into a ponytail, saying, "You look like someone who's been hit by a very sophisticated truck." Was it the Ashford Effect? Has he brought anyone to tears once more?
Emma took a seat slowly. "No one sobbed."
"But?"
Emma shrugged. "I have no idea. He's... intense.
Like a cat spotting its prey, Clara leant forward. "Express intense."
"He just... speaks in this manner." He doesn't seem to be trying to win anyone over. He presents himself as if he is already more knowledgeable than everyone else and doesn't care if you share his knowledge.
So... assured. But not ostentatious?
Emma was hesitant. "I'm giving orders."
A smile spread across Clara's face as her eyes grew wide. "You like him."
"That's not what I said."
"You didn't need to. Your pupils have dilated. You just started speaking strangely. Additionally, you act as if your sleeve owes you money.
Embarrassed, Emma crossed her arms. "Is it not possible for you?"
Clara burst out laughing. I'm not passing judgement. I have heard rumours about him. He has that tortured writer energy, the sweater game, and a tragic backstory. The academic thirst trap is textbook.
Emma gazed down at her beverage. "I had no intention of liking him."
"That's exactly how it begins, my love."
The ---
The quad was covered in long golden streaks as the sun started to set behind the library tower. Pupils pretended to read while lounging on the lawn with laptops and picnic blankets. At this time of year, the campus always resembled a catalogue.
Emma tried to reroute after taking a long gulp of her beverage. "This morning, did you not have psych lab?"
Despite giving her a knowing glance, Clara ignored it. Indeed, I spent an hour watching someone attempt to teach a rat how to press a lever. My ex is now less intelligent than that rat.
Emma gave a feeble smile, but her thoughts remained stuck in the seminar room.
> Too much is visible.
What was the meaning of that? Was it admiration? An alert?
She recalled Julian's expression and the slight change in tone that followed her response. Not really softened. But it was different. As though he had been.Taken aback. moved, perhaps.
She wasn't sure if she was dreaming.
The ---
Later that night, Emma sat on her bed with the paper Julian had brought back last week, after Clara had gone to bed with her headphones in and the tinny sound of true crime coming through the wall.
It had been a personal essay about grief in the poems of Sylvia Plath. She wrote them in a fit of rage, following yet Another argument with her mother regarding law school had left Clara's essay too quick and unpolished. She didn't anticipate that Julian would read it. carefully.
He had, however.
Notes looped sparsely in the margins. Not the standard "expand here" remarks or red-pen corrections. It was a question. Phrases that are emphasised for emotion rather than error. Finally, at the conclusion:
> Your voice is dangerous, sharp, and clear. Put it to use. Just make sure it doesn't work against you.
J.A.
Her eyes followed the letters.
Flirt wasn't what it was. It wasn't even nice.
Recognition, that's what it was.
And she was more afraid of that than anything else.
The ---
Emma was unable to fall asleep. Her thoughts drifted in silent circles as She lay on hern bed and stared at the ceiling.
She wasn't gullible. She was aware. of the regulations. Boundaries were established. Morality. But what precisely had he done? How had she acted?
Nothing improper. NAvoid private meetings and touching; it’s not even a compliment, just a second thought.nd. It was only the start of an unnamed thing.
Nevertheless, she sensed a tugging sensation in her chest.
An interesting question.
a desire.
Julian Ashford sat by himself with a copy of EmmGrant's essay in his hands and cup of unopened coffee in a quiet, book-filled faculty office across campus.
He went over the final paragraph once more.
He then carefully folded the paper and put it in a drawer, but not the locked one.
The opposite drawer. the one in which he stored lingering fragments.
He then shut it.
Relaxed.
and let out a slow exhale, as if he had been holding his breath the whole time.
- Writer
