CHAPTER THREE_ Patterns
918 Words
I’d never pretended to be complicated when it came to men.
Men were easy. Predictable. They laughed when they were supposed to, touched when invited, left when things became inconvenient. There was comfort in that simplicity—no questions about where things were going, no expectations beyond the moment.
So when Mark from my plant genetics class leaned against my desk after lecture, smiling like he already knew the answer, I didn’t hesitate.
“Dorm party tonight,” he said. “You coming?”
I tilted my head, letting the moment stretch just enough to make him nervous. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“Who’s asking.”
He laughed. “Me.”
I smiled. “Then probably.”
By the time I got back to the dorm, I already knew Isa would notice.
She always did.
Mark walked me to the door, his hand brushing my lower back in a way that felt practiced, familiar. Comfortable. When I unlocked the door, Isa was standing near the window, arms folded, her reflection faint against the glass.
She didn’t look away.
“See you later,” Mark said, leaning closer.
I didn’t correct him.
The door closed behind me with a quiet click.
“You didn’t mention you were seeing someone,” Isa said.
I kicked off my shoes. “I didn’t know I had to.”
She turned slowly, her expression unreadable. “How long?”
“With him?” I shrugged. “Not long.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Is he the only one?”
I paused, surprised by the question. “Why are you asking?”
She didn’t answer immediately. “It tells me things.”
“Like what?” I challenged.
“Like whether you stay,” she said calmly. “Or whether you move on when things get dull.”
I crossed my arms. “Men don’t ask for permanence. That’s why it works.”
Her jaw tightened. “And when they do?”
“I leave.”
That answer seemed to bother her more than anything else I’d said so far.
That night, the party filled the dorm floor with noise and warmth. Music hummed softly, laughter bouncing off the walls. I moved through it easily, greeting people I half-knew, accepting drinks, leaning into conversations without thinking too hard about them.
I noticed Isa stayed near the edges.
Always watching.
When Mark pulled me into a loose dance, I felt Isa’s gaze like a weight between my shoulders. When another guy leaned close to say something near my ear, Isa turned away entirely and stepped out into the hallway.
I noticed that too.
Later, after most people had left, Naomi came back into the room with a tight smile.
“Can we talk?” she asked, glancing between Isa and me.
Isa picked up her notebook. “I’ll give you space.”
She left, closing the door behind her with deliberate care.
Naomi exhaled. “Okay. This is awkward.”
“Why?” I asked.
She hesitated. “That guy you were talking to earlier. Mark.”
“Yes?”
“That wasn’t the one I meant,” she said quickly. “It’s the other one. The tall one. Dark jacket.”
My stomach dropped a fraction. “What about him?”
Naomi rubbed the back of her neck. “That’s Aaron.”
The name hit me like something half-remembered.
Aaron.
Year one. Freshman orientation. Late nights studying in the library. Casual flirting that never came with labels. We’d kissed once. Maybe twice. Nothing serious.
“I didn’t know you knew him,” I said slowly.
Naomi laughed without humor. “I didn’t know you did.”
Silence stretched between us.
“He’s my ex,” she continued. “Sort of. On and off. Mostly off. Lately… complicated.”
I stared at her. “I had no idea.”
“I believe you,” she said. “But Isa doesn’t.”
My chest tightened. “Why does Isa care?”
Naomi looked at me carefully. “That’s a good question.”
The next morning, the dorm felt different.
Isa was already awake, wiping down the shared desk with unnecessary precision.
“You could’ve told me,” she said without looking up.
“Told you what?”
“That you knew Naomi’s ex.”
My breath caught. “I didn’t.”
She paused, cloth still in her hand. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes,” I snapped. “Because it’s true.”
She finally looked at me then. Her gaze wasn’t angry.
It was calculating.
“You have a habit of overlapping,” she said quietly.
“With people?”
“With lives.”
I stepped closer. “You’re making this something it’s not.”
Her voice dropped. “You make things complicated and pretend it’s accidental.”
“That’s unfair.”
She leaned in just enough to be felt. “So is pretending you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Later, Naomi pulled me aside again.
“She gets like this,” she whispered. “When things feel out of her control.”
I frowned. “She doesn’t control me.”
Naomi didn’t argue. “Just… be careful.”
That night, lying in bed, I replayed Isa’s words over and over.
You have a habit of overlapping.
I wondered if she saw my involvement with men as carelessness.
Or defiance.
Or something else entirely.
Because jealousy reacts.
But control?
Control waits.
And Isa was very good at waiting.
- Writer
