Chapter 8 — The Distance I Didn’t Keep
1203 Words
I told myself I wouldn’t walk toward him.
That I would stand where I was, let the moment pass, let him be just another figure across the street like he should have been.
That’s what I told myself.
But my body didn’t listen.
It never does when something already feels decided.
The distance between us wasn’t far.
Not really.
Just a stretch of road, a few passing cars, the fading light settling between us like something waiting to be crossed.
I stepped forward.
Once.
Then again.
Each step slower than the last, like I was trying to give myself time to stop.
I didn’t.
By the time I reached the other side, the noise of the campus had softened behind me. The voices, the laughter, the movement—all of it faded just enough to make everything else clearer.
Him.
Standing there.
Watching.
Not surprised.
Not questioning.
Like he had already known I would come.
“You didn’t leave,” I said.
My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
“I could say the same,” he replied.
That wasn’t the same.
He knew it.
I knew it.
I stopped a few steps away from him.
Close enough to speak without raising my voice.
Far enough to pretend there was still space between us.
“There’s something wrong with this,” I said.
Not accusing.
Just… honest.
He didn’t react immediately.
“What is?” he asked.
“This,” I said again, gesturing lightly between us. “You keep showing up. People keep warning me. And somehow, I’m still standing here talking to you like it makes sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
I let out a small breath.
Not frustration.
Not exactly.
Just… something I couldn’t place.
“You don’t even try to explain anything,” I said.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
There it was again.
That certainty.
That quiet confidence that made it feel like I was always one step behind something I couldn’t see.
I looked at him for a moment.
Really looked this time.
Not just noticing him—
but trying to understand him.
“You make it sound like everything is already decided,” I said.
“Not everything.”
“Then what?”
A pause.
Short.
Controlled.
“Some things are easier to predict.”
“That’s not normal.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
Silence settled between us.
But it didn’t feel empty.
It felt… heavy.
Like something was building inside it.
“I was told to stay away from you,” I said finally.
His expression didn’t change.
“I know.”
That made my chest tighten slightly.
“Of course you do.”
“You listen more than you think.”
“That doesn’t mean I listen to everything.”
“No,” he said quietly. “But you don’t ignore it either.”
That was true.
I hated that it was true.
“They think you’re dangerous,” I added.
“They should.”
The words came too easily.
Too calmly.
Like they didn’t cost him anything to say.
I stared at him.
“You’re not even going to deny it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it wouldn’t change anything.”
I felt something shift in my chest.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Something closer to… awareness.
Sharp.
Unavoidable.
“You’re not making this easier,” I said.
“I’m not trying to.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Like he was deciding whether to answer.
Then—
“Nothing.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” he said. “You’re the one who keeps coming closer.”
That hit.
Harder than anything else he had said.
Because it wasn’t something I could argue with.
Not honestly.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I said quietly.
“No,” he agreed.
“But you didn’t stop it either.”
My fingers tightened slightly at my sides.
The air felt different now.
Heavier.
Closer.
Like the space between us wasn’t as wide as I thought it was.
“Why me?” I asked.
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He didn’t answer immediately.
His gaze stayed on mine.
Steady.
Focused.
And for the first time—
there was something else there.
Not just certainty.
Not just control.
Something softer.
Something… human.
“I noticed you first,” he said.
That wasn’t an explanation.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It does to me.”
I shook my head slightly.
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
“That’s not possible.”
“You think people need time to understand something,” he said quietly. “Sometimes they don’t.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
I looked away for a second.
Just a second.
Because something about the way he said that made it harder to breathe.
Harder to think clearly.
Harder to stay steady.
This wasn’t just curiosity anymore.
It wasn’t just something I could step away from easily.
It was—
something else.
Something that had already started changing the way I moved, the way I thought, the way I reacted.
And I didn’t like how quickly it had happened.
“I should go,” I said.
The words came out softer than I expected.
He didn’t stop me.
Didn’t move closer.
Didn’t reach out.
“Then go,” he said.
Simple.
Calm.
Like it didn’t matter.
But something in his eyes didn’t match that.
Something quieter.
Something that stayed.
I turned.
Took a step.
Then another.
Each one heavier than the last.
Like I was walking away from something I didn’t fully understand—but already felt connected to.
I made it a few steps before stopping.
Not because he called me back.
Not because anything happened.
Just because—
I wasn’t ready to leave it like that.
I turned back.
He was still there.
Of course he was.
“You make this hard,” I said.
Not accusing.
Not blaming.
Just… true.
A faint shift in his expression.
“Then stop making it easy,” he replied.
That didn’t help.
If anything, it made it worse.
Because now I understood something clearly.
This wasn’t just about him.
It wasn’t just about what he was doing.
It was about me too.
About the fact that I wasn’t walking away.
Not completely.
Not yet.
I held his gaze for a moment longer.
Then turned again.
This time, I kept walking.
Didn’t stop.
Didn’t look back.
But I could still feel it.
That pull.
That quiet, persistent connection that didn’t make sense—but refused to disappear.
And as I stepped back into the noise of the campus, letting the world close around me again like nothing had changed—
one thought stayed with me.
I had been told to stay away from him.
And for the first time…
I realized I didn’t know if I wanted to.
- Writer
