The lecturer's voice echoed across the hall, steady and clear, but for Racheal, the words were nothing more than muffled noise. Her pen hovered uselessly above the page, leaving behind a messy ink blot. She tried to focus—tried to catch even a sentence—but her mind kept circling back to him.
Mr. Unknown.
He didn't belong here, yet he sat among them as if he were just another student. One arm rested lazily on the desk, the other twirling his pen with a kind of practiced ease. His posture was casual, but everything about him demanded attention—his stillness, his silence, the unshakable confidence in the way he carried himself.
Racheal's gaze betrayed her again, flicking toward him against her will. The moment her eyes met his, her chest tightened. His stare was unyielding, dark eyes locked on her like he could read every thought in her head.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She snapped her gaze back to her notebook, pretending to jot something down, though her pen scratched nonsense across the page.
Why was he here?
What did he want?
Why couldn't he just leave her alone?
The lecture dragged on, though time seemed to twist around her—minutes stretching into what felt like hours. Racheal forced herself to take deep breaths, her chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. Around her, students shifted in their seats, scribbling notes, whispering in low tones, but she felt trapped in her own bubble of tension.
And yet, she couldn't help it. She looked again.
He was still watching her.
Her breath stuttered. It wasn't the kind of look that could be brushed aside. His gaze was sharp, deliberate, like a challenge. As if to say: You can run, but I'll still find you.
Racheal bit her lower lip until it stung, gripping her pen tighter. Her thoughts tangled with fear, anger, and—though she hated to admit it—something dangerously close to curiosity.
Finally, the lecture came to an end. The bell chimed, breaking the spell that had held her captive. Students pushed back their chairs, the hall erupting with the sound of bags zipping and voices overlapping.
Racheal's heart thudded in her chest as she moved quickly, shoving her books into her bag. She slipped into the aisle, her only thought to get out before he—
"Running away already?"
Her steps faltered.
That voice. Low, smooth, edged with quiet amusement.
Slowly, she turned her head, and there he was—walking beside her as though he had always been there. His tall frame matched her pace with effortless precision, his expression calm, but his eyes glinting with something deeper.
"I don't know what you mean," she replied, her tone clipped as she hugged her books closer.
His lips curved into the faintest smirk. "You do. You always do."
Her throat tightened. "Stay away from me," she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady.
He tilted his head, studying her with unnerving patience. "If that's truly what you want."
And just like that, he moved ahead, blending into the flow of students with infuriating ease, as though the entire exchange had been nothing more than a passing thought to him.
Racheal stopped walking, her heart hammering so hard she thought others might hear it. The crowd surged around her, laughter and chatter filling the air, but she stood frozen in place, every nerve on edge.
She hated him—she told herself she did. But beneath the fear and anger was something she couldn't put into words. Something that terrified her more than his presence ever could.