The Front Path
1357 Words
I didn’t wave.
But I took the front path. Past the science wing. Past the second floor window.
Lucien Ashford was there. Hands in pockets. Gray eyes tracking me like I was a line of code he’d already debugged.
When I reached the lecture hall, he was already inside. Row 7. Back corner. Notebook open. Pen perfectly aligned. Seat next to him empty.
Saved for me.
I sat three rows down. Middle. Surrounded by people. Safe. Invisible.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number. Blocked yesterday. Somehow unblocked today.
Message: Good girl. Now sit next to me.
My blood went cold. Good girl? I hadn’t moved. Hadn’t waved. Hadn’t done anything except walk where he told me to walk.
I didn’t look up. I didn’t move. I stared at my notes until the letters blurred.
Professor Lane started talking about attachment theory. Irony, since I was currently attached to a panic attack.
Ten minutes in, a folded paper landed on my desk. No sound. No one saw him throw it.
I unfolded it under the desk.
Row 7. Now. Don’t make me come get you.
I looked up. Lucien didn’t. He was writing. Calm. Like he hadn’t just commanded me across a lecture hall with a piece of paper.
My hands shook. Twenty years old. Five foot three. He was six foot two and had the entire faculty on speed dial. Who was I to say no?
I stood. Bag over shoulder. Head down. Walked the long way around the desks like that made it less humiliating.
Row 7. Back corner.
The seat next to him was warm. Like he’d been heating it for me.
“Punctual,” he said without looking up. “I knew you’d come.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” he said. Finally turned. Gray eyes, no smile. “You chose the front path. You chose to sit. You’ll keep choosing me. It’s easier that way.”
Professor Lane wrote "anxious attachment" on the board. Lucien underlined it in his notebook. Then underlined my name next to it.
“Stop,” I whispered. “You can’t just— my schedule. My phone. That’s private.”
“I started small,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. Only for me. “Your seat. Your coffee. Your schedule. Now bigger.”
He slid his notebook toward me. Open page.
A list. My handwriting but typed.
1. Aisha- Roommate. K-pop. 2 AM. Calls her brother every Sunday.
2. Ben - Stats class. Borrowed your pen Tuesday. Likes you.
3. Maya - You. Oat latte. 2:08 PM. Skip lunch Wednesdays. Back path after dark.
My throat closed. “You’ve been watching my friends.”
“I observe everything that touches you,” he said simply. “Ben texted you at 11:03 PM last night. ‘u up?’ He deletes it at 11:04. Thinks you won’t see. But I see.”
“I don’t— Ben’s just a classmate—”
“He wants more than notes,” Lucien said. “He won’t get it.”
He said it like a fact. Like Ben’s future was already decided and Lucien had decided it.
“Delete his number,” he said. Not a request.
“No.”
Lucien’s pen stopped moving. The air went still. He turned fully toward me. Too close. That caging energy from the library, but in a crowded hall with 80 students.
“Let me explain something, little one,” he murmured. “I don’t ask. I take. You smiled. I took that as permission. You took the front path. You took the seat. You’ll take my protection. It’s not up for discussion.”
“I’m not yours,” I whispered. “I’m not anyone’s.”
His eyes flickered. Something dark and pleased. “That’s what makes it fun.”
The lecture ended. Students packed up. Lucien didn’t move until the room was empty. Then he stood, tucked the notebook under his arm, and held out his hand.
“Come.”
“No.”
He sighed. Like I was a difficult problem, not a person. “Maya. Front path is closed for repairs tomorrow. You’ll walk home alone. At 9 PM. After your café shift. Last bus leaves at 8:45.”
“How do you—”
“I know,” he cut me off. “Which is why you’ll come with me instead. My driver waits at the south gate. 9:02 PM. Every night.”
“I have legs,” I snapped. “I can walk.”
“Walk,” he agreed. “And when you’re three blocks from campus and the streetlight by the old bookstore flickers out, you’ll remember I told you it was unsafe.”
He leaned down. Close enough that I smelled cedar and coffee again. “I’m not threatening you. I’m telling you how the world works when you’re mine.”
He walked out. Didn’t look back. Assumed I’d follow.
I didn’t. I sat there shaking until the cleaner came in. Until my phone buzzed again.
New message. From the same unblockable number.
Attachment theory says you’ll seek safety when scared. I’m safety now. 9:02 PM. Don’t test me.
I ran to the girls’ bathroom and threw up. Just water. I’d skipped lunch again.
Aisha found me there. “Maya? You okay? You look pale.”
I nodded. Lied. “Long day.”
“You’re quiet. That guy was looking at you in lecture. Tall. Suit. Creepy vibes.”
Lucien. She meant Lucien.
“Yeah,” I managed. “He’s… intense.”
Aisha laughed. “Intense is one word for it. Girls call him the campus ghost. He shows up, stares, disappears. No one talks to him twice.”
I rinsed my mouth. Stared at myself in the mirror. Same face. Same smile that got me into this. Lively 20-year-old who wanted a normal uni life.
Not anymore.
My phone buzzed. Aisha’s name. But the text wasn’t from Aisha.
It was from L.
I told you. Your friends. Your phone. Don’t make me take your freedom next.
I dropped the phone like it burned me. Aisha picked it up.
“Who’s L?” she asked, frowning. “New guy?”
“No one,” I said too fast. Snatched it back. “Wrong number.”
Aisha gave me a look. “You’re lying. Your hands are shaking. Did he do something?”
“No,” I whispered. “He’s just… watching.”
Aisha went pale. “Lucien Ashford? Maya, everyone avoids him. He doesn’t ask. He takes. My cousin worked for his company last summer. Said he has files on everyone. He doesn’t blink. It’s creepy.”
I knew that now.
After my shift, I walked to the south gate at 9:01 PM. Told myself I’d wait for the bus. Prove he didn’t control me.
9:02 PM. Black car idled at the curb. Driver in front. Back door opened.
Empty seat. Warm. Like the lecture hall seat.
No Lucien. Just the expectation.
I stood there in the cold, holding my bag, while students streamed past. No one looked at the car. Like it was invisible. Like Lucien Ashford was invisible until he chose not to be.
My phone buzzed.
Get in, Maya. Or walk home in the dark. Your choice.
Choice. Right.
I thought about the streetlight by the bookstore. About walking alone at 9 PM. About being lively and twenty and wanting normal.
I got in.
The door closed. Soft. Final. Leather seat. Smelled like cedar.
No Lucien inside. Just a folded note on the seat next to me.
You’re safe. For now. Next time, sit next to me. I don’t like empty space where you should be.
The car started moving. Driver didn’t speak. Didn’t look at me in the mirror.
I pressed my forehead to the cold window and watched campus blur past.
He started small. My seat. My coffee. My schedule.
Then bigger. My friends. My phone. My freedom.
He says he’s protecting me. But his eyes say I’m already his.
And as the car turned onto my street, I understood the truth he’d been telling me.
- Writer
