chapter: new phonecase?
1058 Words
I woke up slowly.
The first thing I noticed was the light.
London light always felt softer in the morning, like the city was breathing quietly after staying awake all night.
I blinked a few times, staring at the ceiling before remembering where I was.
Oxford.
Flat 3B.
New life.
I sat up and stretched slightly, my oversized shirt slipping a little over my shoulder.
Then I reached for my phone.
I frowned.
Something was different.
I picked it up and turned it over.
The phone case was new.
Exactly the same design as the old one, soft blue, delicate pattern near the bottom, but it didn’t have the worn edges I was used to seeing.
My fingers tightened slightly around the device.
“That’s strange,” I muttered.
I removed the case slowly.
The back of the phone was clean.
Untouched.
Someone had replaced it.
A cold, uncomfortable sensation crawled slowly up my spine.
“Zara?” I called.
No answer.
I stepped out of my room into the hallway.
The flat was quiet.
Too quiet for a shared student apartment.
I walked to the kitchen first.
Two mugs were still beside the sink. I touched one absentmindedly.
Someone had been awake earlier.
I didn’t know why, but my chest felt tight.
Not fear.
Awareness.
I walked toward the living room and noticed Zara’s door was slightly open.
“Zara?” I said again, knocking lightly.
Her voice came back sleepy and irritated. “It’s too early for life decisions.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled faintly.
She walked out moments later wearing an oversized hoodie.
“You look like someone who didn’t sleep,” she said.
“I slept.”
She pointed at my phone. “New case?”
I frowned. “Yeah… I think someone replaced it.”
Zara’s expression changed slightly.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
She didn’t joke this time.
Instead, she stared at the phone for a long moment.
“Was it Lucian?” she asked casually, too casually.
My stomach tightened.
“Why would it be him?”
She shrugged. “He’s weird.”
“Define weird.”
“Quiet. Watches too much. Doesn’t talk unless necessary. Comes and goes at strange hours.”
I felt a faint chill despite the warm apartment.
“Maybe it was a mistake from the accommodation office,” I said.
Zara didn’t answer immediately.
Then she smiled.
“Yeah. Probably.”
But something in her eyes said she didn’t believe it.
After talking to Zara, I stayed in the kitchen for a moment longer than necessary.
Something about the morning felt… slightly off.
I couldn’t explain it.
Maybe it was the phone case.
Maybe it was just jet lag still clinging to my body like a shadow.
I filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove, watching it quietly begin its slow path toward boiling.
London mornings were different from home.
Less noise.
More breathing space.
The air in the flat smelled faintly of wood polish, coffee that Zara probably made earlier, and something neutral, like stone buildings waking up slowly.
When the kettle clicked, I poured hot water into my favorite mug, dropped in a tea bag, and watched the dark amber colour spread through the liquid like ink dissolving in paper.
I stood there for a moment, holding the warm mug in my hands.
Breathe.
This was my life now.
Oxford.
New people.
New streets.
No Brandon.
No Kaitlyn.
I took a slow sip before returning to my room.
The hallway felt quieter in daylight.
My bedroom door was exactly how I left it.
Closed.
I set my tea on the desk and went to the bathroom.
The shower was warm and grounding.
Water running down my skin felt like washing away the anxiety I didn’t want to name yet.
I stood there longer than necessary, letting the sound of water fill my ears.
When I stepped out, I wrapped myself in a towel and walked back to the room, the floor slightly cold beneath my feet.
I chose my outfit carefully.
Not for anyone.
For myself.
A soft cream-colored blouse that felt professional but not stiff. Dark fitted trousers that moved comfortably when I walked. Simple low-heeled shoes that would not hurt my feet during long lectures.
I dried my hair gently, letting it fall naturally around my shoulders.
Makeup was light, just enough to make my eyes look awake and my skin look alive.
When I looked at the mirror, I saw someone trying to become new.
Not forgetting the past.
But moving beyond it.
I picked up my bag, checked my notebook, laptop, and a pen that had been with me since high school.
Then I stepped into the hallway.
The flat was silent.
Zara’s door was closed.
The third roommate’s door was also closed.
I paused briefly near the kitchen.
Two mugs were still beside the sink.
I didn’t touch them.
I left the flat and locked the door behind me.
The corridor outside was cooler.
Stone walls held the night’s coldness longer than I expected.
I started walking toward the university campus.
The streets were already alive.
Students moving in groups.
Some laughing loudly.
Some walking alone with headphones.
Oxford buildings rose around me like old guardians made of honey-coloured stone and history.
The air smelled faintly of rain that had fallen earlier in the morning.
I followed the signs to my first lecture hall.
My heart was beating slightly faster than normal.
Not fear.
Excitement.
And maybe something else I didn’t want to name.
The lecture hall building had tall wooden doors that creaked softly when I pushed one open.
Inside, the room was wide and well-lit by large windows that let in soft grey daylight.
Rows of wooden seats rose slightly upward toward the back.
Students were already scattered across the hall, talking quietly, opening laptops, adjusting notebooks.
I found a seat somewhere in the middle.
Not at the front.
Not at the back.
Just… existing.
I placed my bag beside me and took out my notebook.
The paper felt smooth under my fingers.
Outside, somewhere across the campus courtyard, a man stood near a stone archway, watching the building where she had just entered.
Not moving.
Not drawing attention.
Simply observing.
Courtney did not know he was there.
- Writer
