His grip on the phone tightened.
You should ask her who she was texting.
The words felt intrusive.
Out of place.
Like someone had stepped into a conversation that wasn't meant for them.
—
He didn't look at the number again.
Didn't reply.
Didn't react—
not outwardly.
—
But his eyes stayed on Lesica a second longer than before.
And this time—
he wasn't just looking.
He was checking.
—
She noticed.
Of course she did.
—
"What is it?"
Her voice was calm.
Unbothered.
Too smooth.
—
He hesitated.
Just slightly.
Then locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket.
"Nothing."
—
A lie.
Not a clean one.
—
Lesica tilted her head, watching him like she was waiting for something more.
When it didn't come—
she leaned back again.
Relaxed.
Unconcerned.
—
But her fingers tapped once against her arm.
A small tell.
Gone as quickly as it appeared.
—
"You sure?" she asked lightly.
—
"Yeah."
Too quick.
—
Silence.
—
It stretched thinner this time.
Less comfortable.
More aware.
—
He could feel it now.
Something just beneath the surface.
Something he hadn't questioned before—
but couldn't ignore anymore.
—
"You've been getting a lot of messages."
The words came out casual.
Careful.
—
Lesica's gaze flickered up to him.
Just for a moment.
Then back down.
"Have I?"
—
Another deflection.
—
He stepped a little closer.
Not aggressive.
Just… intentional.
"You know you have."
—
A pause.
—
Then—
she smiled faintly.
"Does it bother you?"
—
That wasn't the question.
And they both knew it.
—
"It depends," he said.
—
"On?"
—
"Why you won't just answer me."
—
There it was.
Clear.
Direct.
—
And for the first time—
the air shifted in a way that didn't belong entirely to her.
—
Lesica went still.
Not frozen.
Just… precise.
—
Then she stood up.
Slowly.
—
"Ask me properly."
—
His brow furrowed. "What?"
—
"If it matters that much," she said, stepping closer now, closing the distance he had tried to control, "then ask me like it does."
—
A challenge.
—
But not loud.
Not emotional.
—
Controlled.
—
He exhaled, something in his chest tightening.
"You're making this more complicated than it needs to be."
—
"Or," she replied softly, "you're trying to make it simpler than it is."
—
Another step closer.
Now there was almost no space between them.
—
"Who were you texting?"
This time—
he didn't soften it.
—
Silence.
—
Lesica looked at him.
Not away.
Not past him.
—
At him.
—
Measuring.
—
Then—
she reached into her pocket.
Pulled out her phone.
—
Unlocked it.
—
And held it up.
Not quite offering it.
Not quite hiding it.
—
"Does it matter who it was," she said quietly, "or what I said?"
—
That—
wasn't the same thing.
—
He noticed.
And that was the problem.
—
"I asked who."
—
A pause.
—
Something in her expression shifted.
Barely.
But enough.
—
Then—
she lowered the phone slightly.
Not giving it.
Not refusing.
—
"Someone who knows you."
—
That landed.
Harder than expected.
—
"What?"
—
Her gaze didn't break.
"Someone who thinks you're starting to notice things you shouldn't."
—
His chest tightened.
"Who?"
—
She didn't answer.
—
Instead—
she stepped back.
Creating space this time.
—
And suddenly—
he felt it.
—
The distance.
—
Not physical.
—
Something else.
—
"You're avoiding it."
His voice was sharper now.
—
Lesica shook her head slightly.
"No."
A pause.
Then softer—
"I'm deciding how much you're ready to hear."
—
That wasn't reassuring.
—
"That's not your decision to make."
—
Another silence.
—
And then—
the smallest shift.
—
Her expression changed.
Not cold.
Not distant.
—
Just… certain.
—
"It already is."
—
Cliffhanger:
His phone buzzed again.
Same unknown number.
—
This time—
a second message.
—
"She's not telling you because if she does, you'll realize you weren't the one who came back first."
—
His eyes snapped up.
—
"Lesica—"
—
But she was already turning away.
—
Like she knew exactly what the message said.
—
And didn't need to see it.