Flashback
Alex's POV
She wasn't supposed to be there.
That hallway was for seniors, usually loud with banter and locker slams — not a place where soft things wandered in. But that day, between seventh period and practice, he saw her.
She was clutching a blue folder to her chest, looking a little lost, standing just far enough out of the way to not be noticed — but he noticed.
God, did he notice.
She looked… young. Quiet. Not in the annoying freshman way — more like she was folded in on herself, like she knew how to disappear.
Most people would've looked right through her. He didn't.
He liked to think he noticed things most people didn't.
Ava.
He didn't know her name then, of course. Not until later, when she said it like she was offering him something sacred.
But that day, all he saw was a girl with too-big eyes and scraped-up sneakers, tracing the edges of her folder like it kept her safe.
He walked past her. Didn't say anything at first. Just slowed his steps a little.
And she flinched.
That caught him off guard.
He wasn't used to people reacting like that. Girls at this school either threw themselves at him or ignored him. But this one? This one shrank away.
Not because she thought he was gross. No — because he scared her.
And some messed-up part of him liked that.
He doubled back. Leaned against the locker beside her. "You lost, little one?"
She looked up, startled. Blinked. Didn't speak.
Her silence was almost infuriating.
But then she mumbled, "I'm waiting for someone."
And he almost smiled.
Her voice was small. Careful. Like she measured every word before letting it out.
He had power here. He knew it. She was young, unsure. He was older, taller, confident — and he wore it like armor.
"You sure?" he asked. "Because you look like you're about to cry."
She flushed. Looked down.
God, she really was something.
"What's your name?" he pressed.
She hesitated. Then whispered, "Ava."
The way she said it — barely above a whisper — made him lean in closer. He didn't need to. He just wanted to see her react.
She did.
She stepped back, bumping into the lockers.
"I'm Alex."
She didn't respond.
He should've walked away. Should've let her be.
But he couldn't.
There was something about her. Something fragile, like porcelain you weren't supposed to touch. And maybe that's why he wanted to.
Maybe he liked knowing she was scared of him. Or maybe he liked knowing she wouldn't be someday.
Because even then, he could see it.
She was the kind of girl who gave herself away in pieces.
And he wanted them all.
He kept running into her.
At first, he thought it was coincidence. A glimpse of her in the courtyard at lunch, sitting alone, nose buried in some tattered paperback. Then again, near the music wing — where she clearly didn't belong, fidgeting near a notice board with her headphones in, pretending she didn't feel his eyes on her.
But the third time?
That wasn't coincidence anymore.
He started noticing her schedule. When she came out of the library. When she stayed late for something or waited at the back gate with her arms crossed and her face tilted toward the sun like she was praying.
She didn't notice him at first — or maybe she pretended not to.
He didn't mind.
He liked watching.
There was something calming about her stillness. She wasn't like the girls he knew — loud, loud, loud, all glitter and lip gloss and trying too hard. Ava… she existed in soft tones. Unapologetically quiet. Which made her reactions all the more delicious.
A flicker of her gaze. A sudden shift of her grip on her books. A breath held when he got too close.
She always looked like she wasn't used to being seen.
So he made a point of it.
"Back here again?" he asked her one day outside the chemistry block, leaning against a pillar with that slow, knowing smirk.
She startled — again. "I'm just…"
"Let me guess. Waiting for someone."
She frowned, lips twitching like maybe — just maybe — she was getting tired of him.
Good. He liked when she showed fire.
"You always stare at people like that?" she mumbled, eyes still not meeting his.
"Only the interesting ones."
That shut her up.
She turned away — started to walk — and that was when he knew.
He had her attention too.
Maybe she didn't want it. Maybe it scared her.
But she felt it.
She was trying to outrun something that had already started chasing her.
He started timing his breaks. Walking the long way to class. He didn't have to look hard — she moved through the school like a whisper, but he always knew where she was.
And once, just once, she looked up as he passed and didn't flinch.
Didn't smile, either.
But didn't flinch.
And Alex felt something tighten in his chest.
He didn't know it then — couldn't have — but that was it.
That was the moment he decided she was going to be his.
He didn't care how long it took.
He didn't care if she never said yes.
He was already building a world in his mind — one where Ava stopped running, stopped hiding, and finally looked up and saw him.
Only him.
---
It was raining.
Not a storm, not dramatic — just one of those soft, persistent drizzles that soaked everything in grey and made the world feel quieter than it really was.
She was sitting under the awning near the back gate, arms tucked around her knees, that same tattered book in her lap, pages curling at the edges.
Alex had walked past three times already.
Once with friends — loud, laughing, obnoxious.
Once alone, pretending he had somewhere to be.
And the third time… he stopped.
"You're gonna catch a cold sitting out here like that."
She didn't look up. "I'm fine."
"You say that like it's supposed to make me believe you."
That made her glance up. Not quite annoyed. Just… tired.
"No one asked you to care."
That stung more than it should have.
But Alex didn't walk away.
Instead, he sat down next to her — not too close, not touching — just enough to make her tense.
"I'm not waiting for you to ask," he said, voice low, teasing. "I care anyway."
Silence.
The rain tapped above them. The wind curled at their feet. She turned a page — slowly, like she needed the rhythm of it to stay calm.
Then, softly: "Why?"
He blinked.
Why?
He could've said a hundred things. That he liked the way she always had ink on her fingers. That her silence felt louder than most people's screaming. That she reminded him of something soft he'd forgotten he could want.
But he didn't.
He leaned back on his palms, stared out at the parking lot.
"Dunno," he said. "Maybe 'cause you're the only person here who looks like she's not trying to impress anyone."
She glanced at him again. This time, it lingered.
"I don't even know your name."
He grinned. "Alex."
"Ava."
"I know."
Her brows furrowed. "You've been watching me."
It wasn't a question. She already knew.
He didn't deny it.
"I like the way you read," he said. "You look like you disappear when you do."
"That's creepy."
"Maybe."
More silence.
But she didn't move away.
Didn't tell him to leave.
And when the final bell rang and students flooded out, wet and laughing, pushing past them like they didn't exist — neither of them got up.
Ava looked down at her book again.
Alex watched the raindrops slide off the edge of the roof and thought, for the first time in a long time, that maybe he didn't need to be the loudest voice in the room to feel powerful.
He just needed her to keep listening.