Chapter 3 — The First Conversation
890 Words
I told myself I wouldn’t look at him again.
It wasn’t a rule.
Just a decision.
The kind you make quietly, without saying it out loud, because saying it out loud makes it feel more real than it needs to be.
So I focused on the front of the class.
The lecturer hadn’t arrived yet. People were still talking, shifting in their seats, settling into something that felt familiar to them but not to me.
I kept my eyes forward.
Not turning.
Not checking.
Not giving the moment any more weight than it deserved.
But awareness doesn’t disappear just because you ignore it.
It stays.
Somewhere in the background.
Like a sound you’re not listening to—but still hear.
I could feel it.
That presence.
Not moving.
Not loud.
Just there.
I adjusted the pen between my fingers, tapping it lightly against my notebook.
Once.
Twice.
Then I stopped.
It was distracting.
Or maybe I just needed something to do with my hands.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
The voice came from behind me.
Low.
Calm.
Too close.
My hand stilled.
I didn’t turn immediately.
I didn’t want to react too quickly.
But I already knew.
Some things don’t need confirmation.
Still—
I turned.
And there he was.
Closer than before.
Close enough that I didn’t have to search for him this time.
Jace.
Same expression.
Same calm.
Like this was normal.
Like he hadn’t just broken the distance that had existed between us since the first moment.
“You’re tapping the pen,” he added, like he was clarifying something obvious.
I glanced down briefly.
“I wasn’t aware it was that noticeable.”
“It is.”
“Only to you?”
“Probably.”
That wasn’t the answer I expected.
I studied him for a second.
He didn’t look uncomfortable.
Didn’t look like someone trying to start a conversation.
If anything, he looked like someone who had already decided this moment would happen.
“You’ve been watching,” I said.
Not accusing.
Just stating.
He didn’t deny it.
“Observing,” he replied.
“That’s the same thing.”
“Not exactly.”
I turned slightly in my seat so I could face him more directly.
Around us, people were still talking. Nothing had changed.
Except this.
“So what did you observe?” I asked.
He didn’t answer immediately.
His gaze stayed on me, steady in a way that didn’t feel intrusive—just… certain.
“You notice things,” he said finally.
“That’s not rare.”
“No,” he agreed. “But you don’t react to them right away.”
I frowned slightly.
“You got all that from me sitting in a classroom?”
“You confirmed it.”
“How?”
“You didn’t turn around immediately when I spoke.”
I didn’t expect that.
“That could mean anything.”
“It doesn’t.”
I held his gaze for a moment longer.
There was something about the way he spoke.
Not like he was guessing.
Like he already knew the answer before asking the question.
“You’re very sure of yourself,” I said.
“I don’t like repeating mistakes.”
“That sounds like experience.”
“It is.”
There it was again.
That thing.
Not a full answer.
Just enough to suggest something behind it.
I leaned back slightly.
“And what mistake are you avoiding right now?”
A small pause.
Not long.
Just enough to notice.
“Talking too much,” he said.
I almost smiled.
“That’s ironic.”
“Why?”
“You’re the one who started this.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“You didn’t stop it.”
That was true.
I didn’t respond immediately.
Didn’t need to.
The silence settled between us.
But it didn’t feel awkward.
Just… present.
“You have a name,” he said after a moment.
It wasn’t a question.
“Isla.”
The word felt different this time.
Not just something I said.
Something he now had.
He nodded once.
Like that was enough.
“I know,” he said.
I stilled.
“What?”
“You said it earlier. Outside.”
I didn’t remember that.
“I don’t remember telling you.”
“You didn’t tell me directly.”
That didn’t help.
That made it worse.
I studied him again.
More carefully this time.
“You listen more than you talk,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And you remember things people don’t expect you to.”
“Yes.”
“That’s… slightly concerning.”
“Or useful.”
“Depends on how you use it.”
A faint shift in his expression.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
The classroom door opened.
The lecturer walked in.
Conversations dropped immediately.
Chairs shifted.
Books opened.
The moment broke.
I turned back to the front.
So did he.
Just like that.
Like nothing had happened.
But something had.
Because now—
he wasn’t just someone I noticed.
He was someone who had spoken.
Someone who had answered.
Someone who knew my name.
And as the lecture started, words filling the room in a steady, predictable rhythm, one thought stayed with me.
This wasn’t just coincidence anymore.
And whatever this was—
it had already moved further than I intended it to.
- Writer
