Chapter 7 — The Broken Call
769 Words
The moment stretched between them, heavy and fragile.
He waited—eyes steady, breath quiet—while Lily tried to find her voice.
Finally, she swallowed hard and whispered:
“You… can stay.”
A slow breath left his chest. Not relief exactly, but something close to it—something softer, something that felt like surrender.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
He didn’t move closer. He didn’t touch her.
But the air between them felt warmer anyway.
Lily slipped past him slowly, needing space, air, something to clear her mind. She grabbed her towel and went straight into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Inside, she leaned against the wall, heart pounding.
A shower.
She needed a shower to breathe again.
Warm water hit her skin, but her mind didn’t quiet—not for a second.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face in the doorway.
Heard his voice saying Unless you ask me to.
Felt the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the room.
It was all too much.
And not enough.
When she finished and wrapped herself in a towel, she changed into comfortable clothes—a loose top, soft shorts—and stepped out.
He wasn’t in the hallway.
He wasn’t in the kitchen.
He was in his room, door cracked open, shadows moving inside.
She felt his presence, even without looking.
Needing distraction, Lily moved to the living room and sank onto the couch.
Her phone buzzed.
Louis:
Did you make it home? That prof dude was acting weird earlier 😂
Another message:
But anyway—guess what?? I met someone today—
Lily laughed under her breath, shaking her head.
Louis called next.
She hesitated… then answered.
“Lily! Finally,” he said, dramatic as always. “Tell me everything—did you run because you were scared of the professor or because I talk too much?”
She burst into laughter, covering her mouth.
“Definitely because you talk too much.”
Louis gasped as if wounded. “Impossible. My conversations are delightful.”
She laughed again—loud, real, relaxed.
A floorboard creaked.
She looked up.
Professor Hale was standing in the hallway, half-hidden in the shadows.
He wasn’t moving.
Just watching.
His expression wasn’t neutral.
It was tight.
Quietly furious.
Jealousy burning behind his eyes like a storm he was trying to contain.
She tried to act normal, still holding the phone to her ear.
“So anyway,” Louis continued, “I swear, that professor was staring at you like—”
The call ended.
Lily blinked.
The screen read:
Call ended — 0:22
She looked up slowly.
Professor Hale was still standing there, his back straight, his jaw clenched.
“You cut the call?” she whispered.
He stepped closer, not hiding the truth.
“Yes.”
Her heart raced.
“Why?”
His eyes never left hers as he closed the distance between them—slow, deliberate, intense. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
“Because I didn’t like the way he talks to you.”
His voice was low, warm, dangerously honest.
“I didn’t like hearing him laugh with you.”
Another step.
“And I didn’t like how much you were laughing back.”
Her breath hitched.
“You had no right to do that.”
He studied her—deeply, silently.
“No,” he agreed quietly. “I didn’t.”
A beat of silence.
“But I wanted to.”
Her pulse jumped.
He stood just a few inches in front of her now, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, close enough that she forgot how to breathe.
“You shouldn’t be jealous,” she whispered.
His eyes darkened.
“You shouldn’t affect me like this,” he answered, voice barely above a whisper.
Her chest tightened.
He exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself.
“You said I could stay,” he murmured. “Let me… try to act like I should.”
He stepped back, giving her space, exhaling like it physically pained him to do it.
“I won’t touch your phone again,” he said softly.
He turned toward his room.
But then—
He paused in the doorway.
“And Lily…”
She looked up.
His voice dropped to something quiet, raw, unguarded.
“I didn’t like hearing him laugh with you,” he murmured. “Because I wanted that to be me.”
Then he disappeared into his room, leaving her breathless in the quiet apartment.
- Writer
