The ways he looks at me

Zara Maddox never meant to fall for him. It started with a click—just a summer joke. A fake profile. A clever alias. Something to make the days blur faster. But then there was him. “Jay.” Quiet, sarcastic, thoughtful. Not like the others. His words dug under her skin in ways she didn’t expect. For weeks they messaged. Late-night confessions, half-truths, and subtle flirting turned into something real—at least for her. And then came the truth. Zara revealed who she really was, expecting anger, maybe disappointment. But instead, Jace Hunter disappeared. Vanished from the app. No goodbye. Now, eight months later, they’re in the same school, the same hallways, breathing the same air. He won’t speak to her. Won’t text. But his eyes? They follow her. Every glance is a silent scream, a confession he refuses to make out loud. Zara can’t move on. She should. But every look from Jace pulls her back in, drags her under. It’s like he hates her and needs her at the same time. And she’s stuck between regret and longing, drowning in something she can’t name. Because what do you do when the person who made you feel everything suddenly chooses silence? This is Zara’s story. A story of digital masks, heartbreak, messy teenage truths—and the boy who looked at her like she was everything, right before he became a ghost. Episode 1 1 It started as a dare. Camila tossed her sun-bleached braids over one shoulder and grinned like she was giving me the secret to immortality. “Come on, Zara. Just do it. Fake name, cute photo, harmless fun.” We were lying on lawn chairs in my backyard, the summer heat smothering everything, cicadas buzzing like static in the distance. I was already halfway through my second popsicle and thoroughly bored with my existence. “Harmless,” I echoed, eyeing her phone screen as she swiped through dating profiles. “You say that like catfishing isn’t literally a crime.” Camila rolled her eyes. “It’s not catfishing. It’s... strategic entertainment. Besides, you need a distraction. Something to pull you out of your Sad Girl Summer.” My eyebrows lifted. “Wow. Can you trademark that?” But I knew she had a point. Summer break had felt endless and empty, like someone pressed pause on my life. With Leah gone at college and Dad working double shifts to avoid dinner conversations, there wasn’t much left to hold onto. Except this. This ridiculous idea. “I’m in,” I said, snatching her phone. 2 We created the account in ten minutes. Name: Jules. Age: 18. Picture: One of me, but filtered, mysterious. Bio: Art is chaos, and I live for it. Within an hour, I had eight matches. Most of them were predictable: bad pickup lines, gym selfies, guys who thought "hi" was a personality. I rolled my eyes and almost gave up—until I saw him. Jay. Profile: Minimalist. No cringey bio. A single black-and-white photo, him looking off-camera, sharp jawline, hoodie pulled over dark hair. And something about his expression—it wasn’t posed. It was real. Tired. Maybe even sad. “Match him,” Camila urged. So I did. 3 The first message came at midnight. Jay: You don’t seem like the others. Me (Jules): That’s the goal. Jay: Why are you here? Me: Why are you? He didn’t answer right away. But when he did, the conversation didn’t stop. We talked about everything. Favorite books (he loved Vonnegut, I admitted to hoarding fantasy novels). Music (he played guitar, I lied and said I sang). We talked about grief, in the vaguest of terms. He said his family was “broken.” I said mine was “quiet.” He asked questions no one else ever had. Real ones. Things that made me think. And somehow, through a fake name and a filtered photo, I started feeling...seen. 4 Eight weeks in, I hated the lie. “I have to tell him,” I whispered to Camila one night. We were on the roof of her house, city lights flickering in the distance, the quiet stretch between us growing louder. “You sure?” she asked. I nodded. “I think I actually...like him.” So I told him. My real name. My school. That Jules was just a mask. He read the message and didn’t reply. 5 He disappeared. Blocked me on the app. Deleted his profile. Gone. I kept refreshing, hoping. Nothing. And then, a month later, school started. And he was there. His name was Jace Hunter. Same hoodie. Same eyes. Only this time, they didn’t sparkle on screen. They burned in real life. And they looked at me like I’d stolen something from him. 6 It became a silent war. In the halls: glances. In class: tension. In my chest: heartbreak I never saw coming. Camila begged me to ignore him. “He’s not worth it.” But how do you ignore the one person who knew you before you remembered who you were? 7 One rainy Friday, I caught him staring. We were in the library, seated across the room. I walked over. Heart pounding. “You said you hated liars,” I whispered. He didn’t look up from his book. “I do.” “So why do you still look at me like that?” He turned one page. “Because I’m stupid.” Then he stood and walked away. 8 That night, I wrote him an unsent letter: You made me real. Then you vanished. But every time you look at me, you pull me back in. And I don’t know how to breathe when you’re near. You said I lied. But you were the one who stayed silent. So maybe we both broke something. 9 Weeks passed. The looks didn’t stop. In Chemistry, I caught his reflection in the lab glass, watching me. In the cafeteria, he sat where he could see me. Never closer. Never further. Like I was a painting he didn’t know how to interpret. Camila noticed. “He’s torturing you.” “He’s torturing himself too.” She shook her head. “Then one of you needs to stop.” 10 In October, during Spirit Week, the school held a bonfire night. I went. I shouldn’t have. There was music, laughter, flames rising into the cool autumn air. I saw Jace across the fire. Alone. Hood up. And for once, I didn’t go to him. I left early. Halfway down the parking lot, I heard footsteps. “Zara.” I turned. He stood there, drenched in shadow. “I didn’t hate you,” he said. “Could’ve fooled me.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You made me feel something. Then you turned it into a lie.” “I was scared,” I said. “I still am.” He stepped closer. Just one step. “So am I.” And then he walked away. 11 The next morning, he wasn’t at school. And for the first time, it wasn’t silence I felt. It was absence. Like something had been stolen. And this time, it wasn’t him. It was me. Episode 2: Silent Strings 1 He didn’t come to school for two days. On the third, he showed up with a bruise blooming under his left eye and his hoodie zipped up to his chin. “Holy crap,” Camila whispered as we passed him near the lockers. I slowed down, my breath catching. “Do you think someone—?” “He’s probably just trouble,” she muttered. But even she didn’t sound sure. I saw him glance at me as I walked by. Not a full look. Just a flicker. Like he was checking if I was still there. Like he always did. But this time, it felt heavier. 2 Jace didn’t talk to anyone that day. But I noticed he was sketching again—something I hadn’t seen him do since before the block, the silence, the ache. A rough drawing. A girl in profile. Hair half-tied, mouth uncertain. She looked a little too much like me. 3 After school, I found him alone behind the gym, sitting on the edge of the bleachers. “You okay?” I asked. He didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened. “Why do you care?” “Because I do.” He finally looked at me. “Well, don’t.” “Jace—” “Don’t make this harder.” 4 Later that night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the bruise. The sketch. The silence between us that used to be filled with words. So I did something stupid. I sent him a message. Me: I miss Jules too. But I like Zara more. 5 He didn’t reply. But the next morning, there was a note in my locker. Folded, creased. “I never stopped looking.” 6 We didn’t talk. Not really. But something shifted. In art class, I caught him glancing at me between brushstrokes. At lunch, I found myself sitting closer. Not next to him. But closer. And once, in the hallway, our hands brushed. It felt like static. It felt like the beginning of a thunderstorm. 7 Friday night, I was walking home alone after Camila’s shift at the smoothie shop ran late. A car slowed near me. A shout. A laugh. Three boys I didn’t recognize. “Nice night for a walk,” one sneered. I froze. My heart stuttered. And then he was there. Jace. “Back off,” he growled. The car sped off, tires screeching. He turned to me. “Are you okay?” I nodded. Shaking. “How did you...?” “I followed you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to be creepy. I just—I had a feeling.” We stood under the streetlight in silence. “You shouldn’t have had to protect me,” I whispered. “You shouldn’t have to walk alone.” 8 He walked me home. At my door, we stood inches apart. “I don’t know how to do this,” he said. “Do what?” “Unhate you. Forgive you. Trust you.” “Then don’t,” I said. “Just start with talking to me.” He gave a small, broken laugh. “I’m still mad.” “I’m still sorry.” And then he kissed me. Not soft. Not delicate. Like he was pulling something out of me I didn’t know I’d buried. 9 We didn’t define it. There were no labels. Just late-night calls, lingering glances, songs sent at 2AM. He told me about his mom—how she left. How his dad barely spoke. I told him about my parents’ silence. About the friend I lost in ninth grade. The fear that I wasn’t enough. Some nights, we said nothing. But the silence between us felt less empty now. More like music waiting to be written. 10 And then, just as suddenly as it started—he pulled away. He ghosted me again. No note. No look. Nothing. I watched him pass me in the halls like I was invisible. Like that kiss was a glitch in the system. 11 Camila found me crying in the art room. “He’s scared,” she said. “Some people run when it’s real.” “I’m scared too. But I’m here.” She held me. “Then he’s the one who’s lost. Not you.” 12 I waited. Days passed. He looked. But didn’t speak. And I stayed silent. Because love shouldn’t have to beg. Because some strings, once cut, can’t be tied the same way again. 13 And yet... every time he looked at me—it still felt like he wanted to try. TO BE CONTINUED