Chapter Three
He Was Not Supposed to Follow
I thought leaving would be enough.
It should have been.
I walked faster than usual, my steps steady, controlled, like I could outrun something that was not even chasing me, like distance alone could fix whatever this was becoming.
But the truth stayed with me.
It did not matter how far I walked.
I was already thinking about him.
And that was the problem.
The campus lights had started to come on, casting soft shadows across the empty paths, and everything felt quieter now, like the world had slowed down just enough for thoughts to grow louder.
I hated how clear mine were.
I should not have stopped.
I should not have listened.
I should not have let this become anything more than a moment.
But it was already more.
I could feel it.
"Aria."
I froze.
My heart skipped once, sharp and sudden, like it already knew what I would see before I even turned.
Slowly, I did.
He was there.
Again.
A few steps behind me this time, not close enough to touch, but close enough to make the space between us feel smaller than it should have been.
"You should stop doing that," I said quietly.
"Calling your name?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
I looked at him, frustration rising, mixing with something else I refused to acknowledge.
"Because I keep stopping."
"Then do not."
"It is not that simple."
"It is."
"It is not."
He watched me, calm as always, like none of this affected him the way it did me, like he was standing outside of something I was already caught inside.
"You left," he said.
"I always leave."
"But you hesitate."
The words landed softly, but they stayed, because they were true in a way I did not want them to be.
"I do not," I said.
"You do."
"I do not."
"You do."
I exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself, because this felt like a pattern now, something repeating, something I was not controlling the way I should have been.
"You followed me," I said.
It was not a question.
He did not deny it.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you walked away."
"That does not explain anything."
"It does to me."
"That is not enough."
"It is."
I stared at him, trying to understand how someone could speak so simply and still make everything feel more complicated than it should have been.
"You cannot just follow people."
"I did not follow people."
I frowned slightly.
"Then what did you do?"
"I followed you."
The words were direct.
Too direct.
And for a second, I did not know what to say, because there was something about the way he said it, calm, certain, like it was the most natural thing in the world, that made my chest tighten in a way I did not like.
"That is worse," I said.
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you do not know me."
"I want to."
"I do not want you to."
"Why not?"
I hesitated.
That was my mistake.
Because in that brief silence, something shifted again, something I could not control, something that made this feel less like a simple conversation and more like something deeper, something dangerous.
"Because," I started, then stopped.
He waited.
He always waited.
And somehow, that made it harder.
"Because I do not trust this," I said finally.
"This?"
"Yes."
"What is this?"
I shook my head slightly.
"I do not know," I admitted, my voice quieter now, "and that is exactly why I do not like it."
He studied me for a moment, like he was trying to understand something I had not fully said, something just beneath the surface.
Then, quietly, "You felt it the first time."
It was not a question.
I looked away.
"That does not mean anything."
"It does."
"It does not."
"It does."
I clenched my fingers slightly, frustration building again, because this was not fair, not the way he spoke like everything was already decided, like my denial did not matter.
"You keep saying that," I said.
"Because it is true."
"You do not know that."
"I do."
"How?"
"Because you keep stopping."
Silence.
Again.
And this time, it felt heavier.
Because he was right.
And I had no way to prove him wrong without lying.
"I will not stop next time," I said.
"Then I will not call your name."
I looked at him.
Something about that answer felt wrong.
Too easy.
"You are lying," I said.
A faint shift in his expression.
"Maybe."
That did not help.
"If you know that, then why say it?"
"Because I want to see if you believe me."
"I do not."
"I know."
"Then what is the point?"
"To see if you hesitate anyway."
I frowned.
"That does not make sense."
"It will."
The way he said it, quiet, certain, like he was already sure of something I had not yet realized, made something in my chest tighten again.
"You are doing this on purpose," I said.
"Yes."
"At least you admit it."
"I never said I would not."
I let out a slow breath, trying to stay calm, because reacting would only pull me deeper into whatever this was, and I needed to stay outside of it, needed to keep control before I lost it completely.
"You should stop," I said again.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you are still here."
I looked at him.
Really looked at him.
At the calm in his eyes.
At the way he stood there like none of this was uncertain for him.
And for the first time, I realized something that made everything feel more dangerous than before.
He was not confused.
Not even a little.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
And worse, he knew exactly how I was reacting to it.
"I am leaving," I said.
"Alright."
I waited.
He did not move.
"You are not going to stop me?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you will come back."
The certainty in his voice made something in me tighten.
"You do not know that."
"I do."
"You are wrong."
"Then prove it."
The same words.
The same challenge.
And this time, it felt heavier.
More real.
Like something had already started and neither of us could pretend it had not.
I held his gaze for a second longer, my thoughts racing, my instincts pulling in different directions, telling me to leave, to stay, to end this, to understand it.
Then I turned.
And I walked away.
I did not stop.
Not this time.
Not when the silence stretched behind me.
Not when something inside me whispered that this was not over.
Because I already knew that.
And that was exactly why I had to keep going.
---
But as I reached the end of the path, something made me pause.
Not his voice.
Not a sound.
Just a feeling.
That quiet, persistent awareness that had been following me since the moment I first noticed him.
Slowly, I turned.
He was still there.
Standing exactly where I left him.
Watching me.
Not moving.
Not calling my name.
Just watching.
Like he was waiting.
Not for me to stop.
But for me to come back.
My chest tightened.
And for a second, just one second, I almost did.
I almost walked back.
I almost closed the distance.
I almost proved him right.
But I did not.
I turned away again, forcing myself forward, my steps quicker now, more certain, like I was trying to convince myself of something I was no longer sure of.
Because the truth followed me, no matter how far I went.
I could leave.
I could ignore him.
I could pretend this was nothing.
But none of that would change what I had already begun to understand.
This was not one sided.
And that was the problem.
Because the moment I stopped pretending, the moment I admitted the truth I was trying so hard to avoid, everything would change.
And something told me that when it did, there would be no walking away.
End of Chapter Three