Eyes on You

Chapter 13: The Paper Trail

Chapter Eight: The Paper Trail

By Thursday, the silence in third-period French had become my new normal.

I had perfected the art of the "Invisible Girl." I arrived exactly thirty seconds before the bell, I kept my head down, and I filled my notebook with lyrics that grew darker and more frantic with every passing minute. I didn't look at the second row. I didn't even look at the chalkboard if his head was in the way. I treated him like a solar eclipse—something beautiful that would only blind me if I stared for too long.

Aarna was trying her best to distract me, whispering about the weekend, but her voice felt like it was coming from a different room. I was trapped in the gravity of my own head.

"Okay, class," the teacher announced, her voice cutting through the heavy static of my thoughts. "Exchange your translation drafts with the person in front of you for peer-review. Five minutes."

My heart stopped.

The person in front of me was a quiet girl named Sana. The person in front of her was him.

The rows began to shuffle. Papers were passed forward and backward, a rustling wave of white sheets. I watched, paralyzed, as Sana reached forward to take his paper. Then, she turned around and handed it to me.

"Here," she whispered, looking bored.

I took the paper, my fingers trembling so violently I was afraid she’d notice the crinkle of the page. This was his handwriting. This was the physical proof of his existence, inches away from my face. I didn't want to look. I wanted to hand it back and say I was sick. But my eyes were already betraying me.

His handwriting was a mess—bold, slanted, and impatient, just like his laugh. I started to go through the French sentences, marking small errors in red ink, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. It felt like an intrusion, like I was reading his pulse on a page.

Then, I saw it.

At the very bottom of the page, in the margin where the teacher wouldn't look, there was a small, hurried sketch. It was a drawing of a tiny, silver star-shaped paperclip.

My breath hitched.

I looked down at my own notebook. Clipped to the top corner of my lyric sheet was that exact paperclip—a weird little thing I’d found in a stationery shop and used every day to keep my loose verses from falling out. It was so small, so insignificant. Never knew that he would ever notice it.

Unless someone was staring.

Underneath the sketch, there were three words written in a script so small I almost missed them:

"Keep writing them."

My world tilted. Keep writing them? He knew. He knew the "notes" I was taking weren't for French class. He’d seen the lyrics during the worksheet handout, or maybe he’d been watching me more closely than I ever dared to hope. If he was looking at Ritika, why was he drawing my paperclip? If he was "coasting," why was he paying attention to the tiny, silver details of my life?

I looked up, unable to stop myself.

For the first time in two days, he wasn't looking at the board. He was turned slightly in his chair, his arm draped over the back, waiting. He wasn't looking at Ritika. He wasn't looking at his friends.

He was looking directly at me.

It wasn't a "casual" glance. It wasn't a "mistaken line of sight." It was a confession. His eyes were searching mine, raw and nervous, stripped of all the "Second Row Mafia" bravado. He looked like he was holding his breath, waiting for a verdict.

I looked down at the paper, then back at him. My armor didn't just c***k; it vanished.

"Maya?" the teacher barked, making me jump. "Is there a problem with the review? We’re moving on."

"No," I whispered, my voice cracking slightly. "No problem."

I handed the paper back to Sana to pass forward, but I didn't look away this time. I watched him take it. I watched him see the small, faint smile I couldn't hide as I touched the silver star on my own notebook. And for the first time since the rumors started, I saw him smile—not a "cool guy" smirk, but a real, shaky, relief-filled smile that reached all the way to his eyes.

The geometry had changed again. And this time, I was the only one who knew the secret.