Nobody's Girl

THE QUESTION MARK

ELIAS

Elias met me on a Tuesday.

Not a Friday night.

Not at a party.

Not in some beautiful, carefully arranged circumstance that would have made the beginning of our story easier to romanticize.

It was a Tuesday.

I was tired, irritated, underdressed and carrying a coffee I had already forgotten to drink.

I was also having a terrible day.

Which, in hindsight, was probably why I remembered him.

I was standing outside a bookstore, trying to balance my phone between my shoulder and my ear while digging through my bag for my keys.

“No, I'm not doing it.”

My friend said something on the other end.

“I don't care if everybody else is doing it. Everybody else can do whatever they want.”

I finally found my keys.

“Because I said no.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear.

“Are you still there?”

Nothing.

I looked at the screen.

The call had ended.

“Unbelievable.”

“Are you talking to yourself?”

I froze.

A man was standing a few feet away.

I hadn't noticed him.

That annoyed me immediately.

“Does it look like it?”

He looked at me.

Then at my phone.

Then back at me.

“Actually, yes.”

I narrowed my eyes.

He didn't smile.

That was the first thing I noticed about Elias.

Most people smiled when they met me.

Not because I was particularly funny or charming, although I liked to believe I was both.

People smiled because smiling made introductions easier.

Elias didn't seem interested in making anything easier.

He glanced toward the door behind me.

“You're blocking the entrance.”

I looked over my shoulder.

I was.

I moved.

“Happy?”

“Immensely.”

I stared at him.

He walked past me.

I should have forgotten him immediately.

Instead, I watched him disappear into the bookstore.

And I hated that I was curious.

---

I saw him again twenty minutes later.

I was sitting near the back of the bookstore with a book open in front of me and absolutely no intention of reading it.

I'd come there to escape my day.

That was another thing I liked about bookstores.

Nobody expected you to talk.

Nobody asked why you looked tired.

Nobody cared whether you were having a good day.

You could sit among hundreds of stories and be anonymous.

I was halfway through pretending to read when someone pulled out the chair opposite mine.

I looked up.

Him.

“You.”

He looked at me.

“Me.”

“Why are you sitting here?”

He glanced around.

“Because it's a chair.”

“There are other chairs.”

“There are.”

“So?”

“So I chose this one.”

I closed my book.

“Are you always this irritating?”

“No.”

“Interesting.”

“I've been told I'm quite pleasant.”

“By whom?”

“My mother.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

His mouth moved slightly.

Not quite a smile.

Close.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

I looked down at the book.

“Nothing.”

He looked at the cover.

“That's clearly a book.”

“I know.”

“So you're reading it.”

“No.”

He looked at me for a moment.

“Are you always this difficult?”

“Only with strangers.”

“Good.”

I frowned.

“Good?”

“I'd hate to think you were like this with everyone.”

I stared at him.

Then, despite myself, I smiled.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

“You're Elias,” I said.

His expression changed.

“How do you know that?”

I pointed toward his book.

His name was written on the receipt sticking out of it.

He looked down.

Then back at me.

“Observant.”

“Obviously.”

“Sloane.”

This time, I stopped smiling.

“How do you know my name?”

“You were on the phone.”

I remembered.

I'd said my name several times during the argument.

“Oh.”

He opened his book.

Conversation over.

I stared at him.

That was it?

No attempt to charm me?

No question about my number?

No you're beautiful?

Nothing?

I should have appreciated it.

Instead, I was offended.

“Are you going to ignore me now?”

He looked up.

“Would you like me to?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

I stared at him.

He returned to his book.

I hated him a little.

---

We spent the next hour sitting across from each other without speaking.

It should have been uncomfortable.

It wasn't.

That was the strange part.

Elias didn't demand my attention.

He didn't fill every silence with unnecessary conversation.

He didn't ask personal questions just because we'd been sitting near each other for forty minutes.

He simply existed.

And somehow, that made me aware of myself.

Eventually, I closed my book.

“You're not reading.”

He looked up.

“I am.”

“You've been on the same page for fifteen minutes.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“You've been watching me?”

“I have eyes.”

“That wasn't my question.”

I smiled.

He returned his attention to his book.

I hated that he kept doing that.

“What's your problem?”

He looked at me again.

“I don't have one.”

“You're strange.”

“So I've been told.”

“Do you ever flirt?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Sometimes.”

“With whom?”

“People I like.”

I blinked.

“Oh.”

He watched my face.

Something about the look made me uncomfortable.

I stood.

“I should go.”

“Okay.”

I stopped.

That was not the response I expected.

“That's it?”

He closed his book.

“What do you want me to say?”

I didn't know.

That was becoming a theme with him.

I picked up my bag.

“Nothing.”

I walked away.

“Goodbye, Sloane.”

I looked back.

He was watching me.

“Goodbye, Elias.”

And then I left.

---

I didn't see him for nine days.

I thought about him exactly twice.

Three times.

Maybe four.

But thinking about someone doesn't mean anything.

I thought about Adrian constantly.

I thought about Roman more than I should.

Thinking about Elias was different.

It wasn't longing.

It wasn't attraction.

It was curiosity.

I wanted to know why he wasn't impressed by me.

That was all.

At least, that's what I told myself.

Then I saw him at a friend's birthday dinner.

I almost turned around.

Almost.

He was standing near the bar, talking to someone.

Black shirt.

Watch on his wrist.

One hand holding a glass.

He looked annoyingly comfortable.

Then he looked up.

Saw me.

And did absolutely nothing.

I walked toward him.

I wasn't sure why.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You're here.”

“So are you.”

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

“You're not going to say anything else?”

“Would you like me to?”

There was that question again.

I rolled my eyes.

“You're irritating.”

“And yet you walked over here.”

I hated him.

I smiled.

“Maybe I made a mistake.”

“Maybe.”

I turned to leave.

“Goodnight, Sloane.”

I stopped.

Turned around.

He was smiling now.

Not much.

Just enough.

“You're enjoying this.”

“A little.”

“That's disappointing.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought you were mysterious.”

“I am.”

“You're not.”

“Give it time.”

I laughed.

And then someone called my name.

I turned.

Adrian.

He was walking toward us.

My stomach dropped.

Not because I'd done anything wrong.

Not yet.

But because suddenly the three parts of my life had brushed against one another.

Adrian reached me and kissed my cheek.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

His eyes moved toward Elias.

“Friend?”

I hesitated.

One second.

Maybe less.

But Elias noticed.

Of course he did.

“This is Elias,” I said.

Adrian extended his hand.

“Adrian.”

“Elias.”

They shook hands.

Nothing happened.

No dramatic stare.

No tension.

No sudden recognition.

Nothing.

And somehow, that was worse.

“Where's everyone else?” I asked Adrian.

“Inside.”

“Okay.”

He looked at Elias.

“Nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

Adrian put a hand lightly against my back.

I felt Elias's eyes on me.

I didn't look at him.

We walked away.

“What was that?” Adrian asked.

“What was what?”

“You hesitated.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“Maybe I forgot his name.”

“You literally just told me his name.”

“Exactly.”

Adrian looked at me.

I smiled.

He shook his head.

“Sometimes I think you enjoy making me question my sanity.”

“That's dramatic.”

“You're dramatic.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn't a compliment.”

“I took it as one.”

He laughed.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Or I thought it had.

---

Later that night, I found Elias outside.

He was alone.

I wasn't sure why I went over.

Again.

I was beginning to dislike how often I seemed to find myself walking toward him.

“You're leaving?”

He looked at me.

“Soon.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“Right.”

He smiled faintly.

I crossed my arms.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing where you look like you're thinking something and then refuse to say it.”

“You do that.”

I frowned.

“What?”

“Exactly that.”

I stared at him.

He continued.

“You hide behind jokes when you don't want to answer something.”

“I don't.”

“You do.”

“You've known me for ten days.”

“Eleven.”

I paused.

He remembered.

Something strange moved through my chest.

“Eleven days,” I repeated.

“Yes.”

“And you've already figured me out?”

“No.”

His answer was immediate.

That surprised me.

“No?”

“No.”

He looked toward the street.

“I don't think anyone is that easy to figure out.”

For some reason, that felt different from the things Adrian and Roman said to me.

They knew me.

Or believed they did.

Elias wasn't claiming to know me.

He was saying he wanted to understand me.

That was more dangerous.

“Then what have you figured out?”

He looked at me.

“You don't like being predictable.”

I laughed.

“That's your big revelation?”

“No.”

“What else?”

“You don't like people knowing when they've hurt you.”

My smile disappeared.

He continued before I could respond.

“You'd rather make a joke than admit something got to you.”

I looked away.

“That's ridiculous.”

“Maybe.”

“And you think you know that from eleven days?”

“No.”

He paused.

“I think I know it because you did it tonight.”

My eyes returned to his.

“When?”

“When Adrian walked over.”

Everything inside me went still.

Elias wasn't accusing me.

That was the problem.

He was simply observing.

“You looked scared for half a second.”

“I wasn't scared.”

“I know.”

“Then why say it?”

“Because you looked like you were.”

I folded my arms tighter.

“You're very observant.”

“I know.”

I almost smiled.

Then I remembered what he'd said.

“What exactly did you think I was scared of?”

Elias looked at me for a long moment.

Then he shook his head.

“That's not my question to answer.”

And there it was.

That was Elias.

He didn't chase answers.

He left them sitting between us.

I hated unanswered questions.

Maybe that's why I couldn't stop thinking about him.

---

I got into my car at midnight.

Adrian had already texted.

Home?

I replied.

Almost.

Roman had texted too.

You disappeared again.

I smiled despite myself.

Then I saw Elias's name.

One message.

You don't have to explain yourself to me.

I stared at it.

I didn't remember giving him my number.

Then I remembered.

The bookstore.

I'd given it to him without thinking.

That was unlike me.

I typed:

I wasn't going to.

His response came almost immediately.

I know.

I frowned.

Then why say it?

The three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Then:

Because you looked like you thought you did.

I read the message twice.

Then a third time.

I put my phone down.

Started the car.

Stopped.

Picked up my phone again.

I typed:

Goodnight, Elias.

His response came seconds later.

Goodnight, Sloane.

I put the phone away.

I drove home.

And for the first time in a very long time, I found myself wondering whether someone could know you without wanting anything from you.

I didn't know what Elias wanted.

That was the problem.

With Adrian, I knew.

With Roman, I knew.

Elias?

I had absolutely no idea.

And I hated how much I wanted to find out.