Chapter 21 - Chapter 21 — The Night I Saw Him Lose Control

I didn't expect to see him waiting outside my dorm that night. It was already past ten, the kind of late where campus lights dim and footsteps echo too loudly. I was returning from the study hall, exhausted, when I saw a familiar figure leaning against a tree, partially hidden in the glow of the streetlamp. My pulse jumped the moment I recognized him. He lifted his head the second I approached, eyes sharp but unnervingly soft at the edges. "You're late," he said, voice low, as if he'd been rehearsing the line in his mind. I stopped in front of him. "What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to sound neutral, though I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. He hesitated—something he rarely did—before answering, "I tried texting. You didn't respond." I pulled out my phone and realized it really was muted. "Oh. I must've silenced it." His jaw tightened, not in anger, but in something heavier. "I thought something happened." The air seemed to thicken between us. I stepped closer. "You waited here… for me?" The silence that followed was an answer. His hands were in his pockets, but I noticed the slightest tremor in his shoulders. He had been cold. He had been worried. And he had stayed anyway. "You shouldn't wait outside like this," I said softly. "It's freezing." "And if something had happened to you?" he said suddenly, voice sharper than the night air. "If you were walking alone and someone—" He cut himself off and looked away, exhaling shakily. It was then I realized something: he wasn't just concerned. He was scared. "You're shaking," I whispered. "No, I'm not." But he was. That controlled, unreadable man—shaking because of me. Something inside me melted painfully. "Why were you so worried?" I asked gently. His eyes flicked to mine for half a second before slipping away. "You know why." "I want to hear you say it." He stiffened. "You don't understand what you're asking." "Then explain." Silence. Then he lifted his eyes again—eyes that weren't calm or steady, but full of unspoken conflict. "I'm trying," he said. "Trying so damn hard to keep this appropriate." My breath caught. "And is it working?" His jaw tightened again, and he shook his head once. "No." The honesty hit me like a wave. I reached out, lightly touching the sleeve of his jacket; his entire body seemed to freeze under that tiny gesture. He didn't pull away. He stepped closer instead, so close I could feel his breath warm against the side of my face. "This shouldn't happen," he whispered, but his voice trembled. "We shouldn't…" "Then why did you come?" I whispered. "Why wait for me?" His composure cracked for real this time. "Because I couldn't leave." My heart trembled violently at his words. He lifted a hand slowly—hesitantly—stopping just short of touching my cheek. His fingers hovered there, shaking with restraint. "Do I matter to you?" I breathed. His eyes softened painfully. "You matter too much." For a moment, I thought he would close the distance. Instead, he abruptly pulled his hand back, like touching me would set him on fire. "Go inside," he said, voice low and strained. "Before I do something I can't take back." I should've listened. Instead, I whispered, "Would that be so bad?" His breath caught. His eyes widened with emotional panic—real, undeniable. "Goodnight," he forced out, and without another word, he turned and walked away too quickly, almost like running. I watched him disappear into the night, heart pounding, realizing something terrifying and undeniable: he felt something. Something real. Something deep. Something he was losing control over.