For the next few days, Alexander Carter might as well have erased Amelia Hayes from his world.
In class, his gaze skimmed over her as though she were a shadow. When she raised her hand, he looked directly past it, calling on someone else. His words, once sharp and personal whenever they landed on her, now curved carefully around her presence, never touching her directly.
It should have been a relief. After all, wasn't this what she wanted? To fade back into anonymity, to let the strange current between them die before it could ignite into something dangerous?
But every time his dark eyes swept across the room without pausing on her, Amelia felt the sting of it — like being pushed outside a circle she hadn't realized she wanted to belong to.
By Thursday, her chest ached with the weight of it.
Clara noticed, of course. Clara always noticed.
"What happened?" she whispered as they left class together, weaving through the crowded hallway. "Did you offend him? Forget his notes? Spill coffee on his shoes?"
Amelia shook her head, hugging her books tighter. "Nothing. He's just… being himself."
Clara snorted. "No, he's being worse. Alexander Carter doesn't ignore people — he dismantles them. And you, my dear, are the only student he treats like a ghost."
Amelia forced a small smile, trying to shake it off. "That's… good, isn't it? Means I'm safe."
"Safe?" Clara scoffed, bumping her shoulder. "You look like someone stole your favorite pen. Admit it — you hate it."
Amelia opened her mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. She hated herself for hating it.
---
The week unraveled further when Alexander made his midterm announcement.
"For this assignment," he said, his voice clipped, "you'll work in groups of four. The project brief is online. Groups will be assigned now."
Amelia braced herself. Her pulse pounded as he began reading names. Each one fell like a gavel, final and binding.
"Group Three: Jameson, Liu, Carter… Hayes."
The pen slipped in her fingers. Her stomach dropped.
Carter. Not Alexander — a student with the same surname. Relief tangled with panic. Still, it meant long evenings in the library, under Alexanders scrutiny, with no way to hide.
She risked a glance upward. His face betrayed nothing, eyes still on the list. But for a heartbeat — just one — she thought his jaw clenched.
Clara leaned over, whispering with mischief, "Fate has a sense of humor."
Amelia pressed her lips together. Fate had a cruel streak, more like.
---
Later, the lecture hall emptied in waves, students chattering about group schedules. Amelia lingered, waiting for her team. Jameson and Liu were efficient, already dividing tasks, and Carter barely looked at her.
"We'll meet in the library Friday night," Jameson said. "Don't be late."
"Sure," Amelia murmured.
She stuffed her books into her bag, willing herself to slip out unnoticed. But before she reached the door, the voice she had been dreading froze her in place.
"Miss Hayes."
Her heart jumped. Slowly, she turned. Alexander stood near the desk, packing away his notes, every movement precise.
"Yes, Professor?"
His eyes didn't lift right away. "You will take this project seriously."
A frown tugged her brows. "I always do."
This time, his gaze met hers. Something flickered there — something sharp and dark, far more dangerous than disapproval. "Then don't prove me wrong."
The air between them tightened. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Finally, she managed, "Understood."
She turned quickly, slipping out before her knees betrayed the tremor beneath her skin.
---
Friday night, the library's tall windows glowed against the rain outside. Amelia arrived early, hoping to ground herself before the others came. Her group soon gathered, spreading books and laptops across a long oak table.
They worked in silence, each student focused, the scratching of pens the only sound. Amelia kept her head down, determined to contribute without fault.
And yet…
Her skin prickled with awareness. That familiar weight of being watched.
She lifted her eyes cautiously.
There he was.
Alexander Carter, seated at a table across the room, papers spread before him. His posture was impeccable, his attention fixed on a journal — yet his gaze flicked toward her more often than chance could excuse.
Each time she caught him, he looked back down instantly, as if burned by the contact.
Her throat tightened. She bent lower over her notes, forcing herself to focus. But the pull was unbearable. Every fiber of her being knew he was there — the sound of his pen scratching, the shift of his shoulders, the faint reflection of lamplight on his glasses.
The silence of the library grew suffocating.
Her groupmates whispered among themselves, planning citations, but Amelia couldn't keep up. Her mind was a battlefield, her pulse loud enough to drown her thoughts.
At one point, she dropped her pen. It rolled across the table and onto the floor. She reached for it, but another hand — steady, elegant, familiar — picked it up first.
Her heart lurched as she looked up.
Alexander stood beside her, holding the pen. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes — dark, burning — betrayed him.
He placed the pen on the table. His fingers brushed hers, just barely, a spark in the quiet.
"Focus, Miss Hayes," he said softly, so only she could hear.
Her chest tightened. "I am."
His gaze lingered a second longer, then he turned and walked back to his table.
Amelia sat frozen, her pen gripped tight, her breath shallow.
Clara's voice rang in her head from days ago: You hate being ignored.
No, she realized with a painful twist.
She hated that she couldn't ignore him.
---
The hours crawled on. Outside, rain lashed against the windows, the storm fierce and unrelenting. Inside, the tension was no less wild.
When her group finally packed up, Amelia gathered her things with trembling hands. She risked one last glance across the room.
Alexander was still seated, though his papers remained untouched. His gaze was fixed on her, unblinking, as though he had been waiting.
Their eyes locked, and the storm outside cracked with thunder.
Amelia's chest he
aved. She looked away first, hurrying out of the library into the rain.
But she felt it — his gaze following, heavy, claiming.
And deep inside, Amelia knew the distance he forced between them wouldn't hold for long.
The fire was only waiting.