EIRA'S POV
Oh, God. What an excruciatingly dull day.
With no college, I had absolutely nothing to do. I had already spent half the morning staring at the ceiling, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, and trying to convince myself that boredom wasn't slowly driving me insane.
It was.
My phone rang just as I was contemplating whether boredom could actually kill a person.
Mumma Calling.
I answered immediately.
"Hello, Mumma!"
"Finally! One whole week of college, and you've already forgotten your family?" Mumma teased.
"Mumma, it's been seven days!"
"Seven peaceful days for us," my brother interrupted. "I was hoping college would teach you some manners."
"And I was hoping you'd develop a brain. Looks like we're both disappointed."
"Papa! Your daughter is insulting me again!"
"Because your son was born to irritate me!" I shot back.
Mumma laughed. "Leave my girl alone. She's had enough to deal with at college."
"Thank you, Mumma! At least someone loves me."
"Unfortunately, I'm still stuck with you," my brother muttered.
"Jealousy doesn't suit you, dear brother."
"Enough," Papa's stern voice cut in. "Eira, are you attending your classes properly?"
"Yes, Papa."
"Eating on time?"
"Yes."
"Good. I've sent you some money. Check your account, and call me if you need anything."
My lips curved into a smile. "Okay, Papa."
"And don't waste it."
"I won't!"
"That's what you said last time," my brother added.
"Mind your own business, oversized mosquito!"
"Eira!" Mumma scolded, then immediately added, "Though, honestly, he does talk too much."
I burst out laughing.
"See? Mumma loves me more!"
"Both of you, stop arguing," Papa ordered.
"Yes, Papa!" we answered together.
A moment later, Mumma said, "Take care of yourself, sweetheart. We miss you."
"I miss you too, Mumma."
After exchanging goodbyes, I ended the call with a smile.
One week of college had passed, and I already missed home—their voices, their laughter, and even my brother's unbearable existence.
Well, perhaps not that last part.
Much.
I sat up abruptly.
Novels.
Of course.
My one true love.
Suddenly invigorated, I sprang out of bed and hurriedly got dressed. A few minutes later, I stepped into the corridor and locked my door behind me.
As I turned toward the hallway, the door beside mine opened.
A girl stepped out.
For a moment, I simply stared.
She was beautiful.
Not the sort of beauty that demanded attention, but the kind that quietly captivated it. Her skin was porcelain-pale, and her delicate features possessed an effortless elegance.
Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out.
"You're beautiful."
The girl blinked in surprise.
Then she burst into laughter—a soft, melodious sound that immediately eased my embarrassment.
"Thank you," she said with a smile. "You're beautiful too."
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
Wonderful.
I had managed to sound strange before we had even introduced ourselves.
She extended her hand.
"By the way, I'm Andy."
I shook it.
"Eira."
"Nice to meet you, Eira."
"You too."
An awkward silence settled between us before I lifted my bag.
"I was actually on my way to the library."
"Oh?" Andy's expression brightened. "A reader?"
"A huge one."
"Then I already like you."
I laughed, unexpectedly comfortable in her presence.
"I should go before the library closes."
"See you around, neighbor."
I waved goodbye and headed toward the library, unaware that this seemingly insignificant encounter would soon become entangled with questions I had never imagined asking.
I wandered between the towering shelves, searching for the perfect escape from reality.
Then my gaze settled on Me Before You by Jojo Moyes.
A romantic story—tender, heartbreaking, and achingly beautiful.
Exactly what I needed.
I pulled the book from the shelf and hugged it against my chest, already anticipating the bittersweet pleasure of losing myself in its pages.
Then I froze.
An inexplicable sensation crept along my spine, as though someone were watching me from somewhere beyond my field of vision.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Nothing.
The library appeared deserted.
You're imagining things, Eira.
I shook off the uneasiness and made my way outside.
The sun had begun its slow descent beneath the horizon, spilling molten shades of amber and gold across the sky. The sight was breathtaking, yet the beauty of the evening did little to dispel the uneasiness gathering in my chest.
The road leading back to the hostel was unusually deserted.
Too deserted.
No students.
No distant laughter.
No fragments of conversation drifting through the air.
Only the measured rhythm of my footsteps against the pavement.
I tightened my grip on the novel and continued walking.
Then I heard it.
Another set of footsteps.
Behind me.
Slow.
Steady.
Unmistakably following.
My stomach lurched.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Nothing.
The path stretched empty behind me.
Perhaps I was imagining it.
Again.
I turned forward and quickened my pace.
The footsteps quickened too.
A cold thread of apprehension wound its way down my spine. My heartbeat grew louder, each frantic thud reverberating through my chest.
The hostel wasn't far.
I only needed to reach it.
I walked faster.
The footsteps drew closer.
Closer.
Closer.
My breathing grew shallow. Every instinct urged me to run, but fear seemed to root my feet to the pavement.
I could almost feel someone standing directly behind me.
Then, without warning—
A hand reached for my shoulder.
Before it could touch me, a blur shot past.
A sickening crack shattered the silence.
The stranger stumbled backward with a curse.
I stood frozen, struggling to comprehend what had happened.
Then I saw him.
Adrian.
He stood between me and the stranger, his black jacket shifting in the evening breeze. The fading sunlight traced the hard lines of his face, but his expression remained terrifyingly unreadable.
The stranger looked at him.
Once.
That was all it took.
He turned and fled.
Silence descended upon the deserted road.
I stared at Adrian, my heart still hammering against my ribs.
His jaw was clenched, and his black eyes burned with an anger I couldn't understand.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
His voice was sharp enough to make me flinch.
For one fleeting moment, I forgot the stranger, the footsteps, and the terror that had nearly paralysed me.
All I could remember was another room.
A crowd of laughing students.
His cold, cutting words.
The humiliation of standing before him while everyone watched me as though I were something ridiculous.
I had cried because of him.
And now he stood before me again, looking at me as though I had committed some unforgivable offence.
"I…" My voice faltered. "I could ask you the same."
Even to my own ears, I sounded uncertain.
His expression hardened.
"I'll ask again. What are you doing here?"
The sharpness of his voice made me recoil slightly.
I lowered my gaze, suddenly conscious of how close he stood and how little I knew about what he might do next.
Despite everything, an absurd part of me noticed the tension in his shoulders, the rigid set of his jaw, and the striking intensity of those black eyes.
Why am I even noticing that?
I forced my attention back to the ground.
"I went to the library," I whispered.
The words came out smaller than I intended.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
I waited for another cutting remark. Another insult. Another reminder that, to Adrian Blake, I was apparently nothing more than a source of amusement.
But it never came.
Instead, something in his expression shifted.
The fury in his eyes receded, leaving behind an unreadable stillness.
"I'll walk you back to the hostel."
I looked up at him, startled.
Why?
The question rose to my lips, but I swallowed it before it could escape.
I wanted to refuse. I wanted to tell him that I didn't need his help, that he couldn't humiliate me one day and expect me to feel comfortable around him the next.
But the memory of the stranger's outstretched hand lingered, and the road behind us remained frighteningly empty.
So I nodded.
"Okay."
The word was barely audible.
We began walking.
Neither of us spoke.
The narrow pavement forced us closer than I would have preferred.
His sleeve brushed mine.
It was an insignificant touch. Accidental. Barely there.
Yet I became painfully aware of it.
I shifted farther away, clutching my book against my chest, determined to ignore the strange awareness that followed every movement he made.
A few moments later, my heel caught against an uneven patch of pavement.
Before I could regain my balance, Adrian's hand closed around my wrist.
His fingers encircled my skin with effortless certainty.
I looked up instinctively.
For one suspended moment, my gaze caught in the depths of his black eyes.
He released me almost immediately.
No apology. No explanation.
He simply continued walking, as though nothing had happened.
I hurried after him, my wrist tingling faintly where his fingers had been.
What is wrong with me?
This was Adrian Blake.
The same person who had humiliated me in front of an entire canteen.
I had every reason to dislike him.
So why did the smallest accidental touch leave me so unsettled?
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.
His expression remained impassive, his attention fixed ahead. There was no indication that the moment had meant anything to him at all.
Somehow, that made it worse.
I wanted to speak, to fill the suffocating silence between us, but every attempt at conversation died before it reached my lips.
I didn't know how to speak to someone who could make me feel safe one moment and utterly humiliated the next.
And I didn't understand why he kept appearing whenever I found myself in danger.
Was it coincidence?
Guilt?
Or was there something about Adrian Blake that I was too foolish to understand?
By the time we reached the hostel gates, the sky had darkened considerably.
I turned toward him, gathering the courage I had been struggling to find throughout the walk.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Adrian paused.
He turned his head slightly, his gaze settling on my face.
For one strange moment, I forgot what I had intended to say next.
He stood close enough that I caught the faint scent of his jacket. The space between us seemed to shrink beneath the weight of his silent stare, leaving me suddenly conscious of my own breathing.
I looked away first.
He stepped back.
Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.
I watched him disappear into the evening darkness, my fingers curling around the strap of my bag.
The warmth lingering on my wrist was an absurd thing to notice.
More absurd still was the fact that I noticed its absence when he left.
A strange ache settled in my chest.
I was grateful that he had saved me.
I was still hurt by what he had said.
And neither feeling seemed willing to surrender to the other.
That night, sleep eluded me.
I tossed beneath the covers, my thoughts circling endlessly around the same bewildering questions.
Adrian's furious expression.
His unexpected appearance on the deserted road.
The way his hand had closed around my wrist before I could fall.
And the humiliation I still couldn't forget.
I pressed my wrist against my chest, then immediately lowered my hand, annoyed with myself.
Why was I thinking about such a meaningless moment?
Eventually, exhaustion dragged me into an uneasy sleep.
Crash!
The sound tore me from my slumber.
For a moment, I lay motionless, my heart pounding violently against my ribs.
The room was dark.
Silent.
Too silent.
I rubbed my eyes and slowly sat up, trying to convince myself that the noise had been nothing more than a fragment of a dream.
Then I heard it again.
A faint thud.
Followed by the unmistakable sound of movement somewhere beyond my door.
My stomach tightened.
Perhaps one of the girls had returned late.
Perhaps I was overthinking everything.
But the uneasiness that had followed me since the library returned with renewed intensity, settling like a weight in my chest.
I slipped out of bed and cautiously opened my door.
The corridor was dimly illuminated, its pale walls swallowed by shadows.
Empty.
Still.
I wrapped my arms around myself and listened.
For several seconds, nothing disturbed the silence.
Then—
A muffled voice.
So faint that I almost mistook it for my imagination.
My breath caught.
The sound came from the room beside mine.
Andy's room.
Immediately, I remembered the girl I had met that morning.
Her warm smile.
Her gentle laughter.
The effortless friendliness with which she had welcomed a complete stranger.
A chill crept over my skin.
Why would someone be inside Andy's room at this hour?
And where was Andy?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped into the corridor.
Slowly, cautiously, I approached her door.
Every footstep seemed unnaturally loud.
My pulse thundered in my ears as I reached the room and pressed my ear against the wood.
At first, I heard nothing.
Then—
Movement.
Drawers being wrenched open.
Objects striking the floor.
The unmistakable sound of someone searching through the room.
Someone was inside.
Fear and curiosity wrestled within me.
I knew what I should do.
I should return to my room. I should call for help. I should stay as far away from whatever was happening behind that door as possible.
But something felt terribly wrong.
And I couldn't bring myself to walk away without knowing whether Andy was safe.
As I leaned closer, I noticed a tiny hole near the edge of the door.
My pulse quickened.
Taking a shaky breath, I bent forward and peered through it.
The room was in complete disarray.
Clothes littered the floor. Drawers hung open, their contents scattered carelessly across the furniture. Books and papers lay strewn everywhere, as though someone had torn through the room in a desperate search for something.
A hooded figure moved between the wreckage with alarming efficiency, rummaging through Andy's belongings.
My mouth went dry.
Who was he?
What was he looking for?
And where was Andy?
The stranger pulled out a phone and raised it to his ear.
I pressed a hand over my mouth, struggling to quiet my breathing.
For several agonising seconds, all I could hear was the frantic pounding of my own heart.
Then he spoke.
"Work done."
Three simple words.
Yet the instant they reached my ears, the blood drained from my face.
My entire body went cold.
No.
No, no, no.
It couldn't be.
The figure ended the call, crossed the room, and climbed onto the windowsill.
Then, without hesitation, he disappeared into the darkness beyond the window.
I remained where I was, unable to move.
Unable to breathe.
Because I knew that voice.
I had heard it too many times not to recognise it.
That same voice had questioned me on the deserted road.
That same voice had offered to walk me back to the hostel.
And that same voice had once reduced me to tears in front of an entire canteen.
Adrian.
The realisation struck me with a force that left me trembling.
My hand flew to my mouth as I struggled to make sense of what I had just witnessed.
What was Adrian doing in Andy's room?
Where was Andy?
What had he meant by work done?
And why did it suddenly feel as though every encounter with him had drawn me deeper into a mystery I had never agreed to be part of?
He had saved me twice.
He had humiliated me once.
And now, standing outside my neighbour's ransacked room, I could no longer tell whether I had reason to be grateful to Adrian Blake—or whether I should have been afraid of him all along.