Your Future Isn't Mine

A Public Declaration

Anna thought she could retreat into invisibility again. After Harry’s visit to her dorm, she told herself he would respect her plea for time—that maybe he’d get distracted, swept into the whirl of exchange student activities, new friends, endless invitations.

But Harry wasn’t that kind of man.

By the following week, it was clear: he wasn’t going anywhere.

***

It started with little things.

When Anna walked into the lecture hall, he was already there, saving the seat beside him with his jacket. She tried to slip past, but he smiled easily and moved it aside, as though daring her to reject him in front of everyone. Whispers followed her as she sat down stiffly.

In the cafeteria, when the line stretched long, Harry appeared at her side with two trays balanced effortlessly. “Figured you wouldn’t eat if the line was this bad,” he said, sliding one toward her before she could refuse.

And in the library—the one place she thought she could hide—he showed up at her table, dropping his textbooks with a grin. “Guess this is my study spot now.”

Anna’s heart raced every time, torn between fury, fear, and the secret, traitorous warmth that spread through her chest.

***

Others noticed, of course.

By the third day, murmurs had spread across campus. *Harry Pitt likes that girl—the quiet one. She’s so lucky. Did you see them together?*

Lila confronted Anna in their dorm, flopping onto the bed with wide eyes. “You do realize half the campus thinks you’re dating him, right?”

Anna nearly choked on her tea. “We’re not.”

“Could’ve fooled me. He’s glued to your side like—well—like a lovesick exchange student.” Lila smirked. “Not that I blame him. You two actually look kind of perfect together.”

Anna’s cheeks burned. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?”

Anna had no answer. Only the sharp memory of her visions, of holding Harry’s hand before everything shattered. Of his eyes filled with pain.

Lila sighed, studying her. “You’re scared of something. I don’t know what, but I can tell you this—he’s not the kind of guy who gives up.”

Anna pressed her face into her hands. That was exactly what she feared.

***

The breaking point came during a Friday seminar.

The professor had just dismissed class when Harry stood up, calling across the room.

“Anna!”

Every head turned. Anna froze halfway to the door, the weight of dozens of eyes pinning her in place.

Harry strode toward her, tall and confident, his voice carrying. “You forgot your notebook yesterday. Thought I’d return the favor this time.” He held out a slim journal—hers, she realized with horror, the one she had left on her desk.

Her pulse hammered. He had come all the way here just to give it back? In front of everyone?

Whispers rippled through the room like wind through leaves.

Anna forced a polite smile, reaching for it quickly. “Thank you.”

But Harry didn’t move away. He lingered, his gaze steady, his smile soft.

“Any chance you’ll let me buy you coffee now? You know, since I’m basically your unofficial lost-and-found.”

Laughter scattered among the students still packing up. Someone whispered, “Say yes!”

Anna’s throat closed. She wanted to vanish. She wanted to run.

And yet—when she glanced up, she saw no arrogance in Harry’s expression. No smugness, no pressure. Just quiet persistence. Just him.

The vision slammed into her again—his hand reaching for hers, the warmth of it, the heartbreak that followed.

Her chest ached. She shook her head, voice trembling. “I can’t.”

A murmur rose in the room. Harry’s smile faltered, but only for a second. Then he nodded, stepping back with grace, as if he’d expected nothing less.

“Then I’ll wait,” he said simply, before turning to leave.

The whispers followed Anna all the way out the door.

***

That night, Anna lay awake long after Lila had fallen asleep. Her mind replayed the scene again and again—the way Harry had stood before everyone, unashamed, declaring without words that he wasn’t afraid to be seen with her.

She should have been furious. She should have been terrified.

And she was.

But under the fear was something more dangerous, more unbearable: the flicker of longing.

The thought that maybe—just maybe—her visions weren’t fate at all, but warnings she could change.

The thought that maybe Harry Pitt wasn’t her doom, but her chance.

Anna rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket tight.

But as she closed her eyes, the visions returned—sharper, darker.

And she knew the storm hadn’t even begun.