Maybe

Chapter 52 "Not even a thank you?"

A few more days passed like this. It was smooth on the surface. Ignoring him wasn’t as hard as I had feared—mainly because he was ignoring me too. But deep down, it killed me. Each passing day made me feel more restless, more… needy. Like I’d made the worst mistake of my life. 

But I couldn’t back down now. 

One night, desperate to clear my mind, I decided to take a walk to the convenience store. Maybe a drink would help ease the turmoil in my head. 

As I browsed the shelves, the feeling crept up on me—someone was watching. Shrugging it off, I grabbed my drink, paid, and walked out. 

The sensation didn’t leave. If anything, it grew stronger. I glanced around casually, my eyes scanning the streetlights and shadows. That’s when I noticed him—a man, dressed entirely in black. He lingered just far enough behind me to not draw suspicion. 

I tried to stay calm, sipping my drink as I walked nonchalantly down the street. But his footsteps mirrored mine. 

I turned a corner, quickening my pace slightly, testing him. He sped up too. 

The air grew colder, the faint buzz of streetlights humming louder in the tense silence. My heart pounded as I clutched the drink in my hand, and a shiver ran down my spine. 

Who was he? And why was he following me?

I started running, my heart pounding in my chest as the sound of his footsteps echoed behind me. He was chasing me. I pushed myself harder, my breath coming in short gasps, but the panic made it feel like I wasn’t moving fast enough. 

And then, I bumped into someone. 

The impact made me stumble, and I was sure I was going to hit the ground, but a pair of strong arms caught me, pulling me into a firm chest. The familiar scent washed over me, and my heart skipped a beat. 

No… it couldn’t be. 

I glanced up, but before I could confirm my suspicion, the man who’d been chasing me stopped in his tracks. One look at the person holding me, and he turned on his heel, running away without a word. 

I half-expected the man holding me to drop me and go after him. But he didn’t. His arms stayed around me, steady and secure, as if he had no intention of letting go. Slowly, I pulled back, just enough to see his face. 

My breath caught. Ethan. 

His cold gaze bore into mine, unreadable yet so intense that I felt frozen in place. I stepped away from him, trying to compose myself, feeling like a child caught doing something they weren’t supposed to. 

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, not even sure what I was apologizing for. Without waiting for a response, I turned to walk away. 

But his hand shot out, grabbing my arm, stopping me in my tracks.

His grip on my arm was firm, but not painful. His voice was low, almost amused, as he said, "Not even a thank you?" 

I turned my head to look at him, my brows furrowing in confusion. "For what?" I asked, genuinely unsure. 

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint, almost mocking smile. "For saving you from your little admirer back there." 

I blinked, caught off guard by his tone. "I didn’t ask you to," I said, trying to sound indifferent, though my heart was still racing from both the chase and his presence. 

"True," he replied, his voice calm but laced with a hint of sarcasm. "You seemed to have it all under control—running blindly into random people, brilliant plan." 

I opened my mouth to retort but stopped, realizing I had no real argument. Instead, I looked away, muttering, "Well, thanks, I guess." 

"That’s more like it," he said, finally letting go of my arm, though his gaze didn’t waver. "But next time, try not to act like you’re in some action movie." 

I rolled my eyes, stepping back. "Noted." 

But as I turned to leave again, his voice stopped me. "You’re welcome, by the way," he said, his tone lighter this time. 

I glanced back at him, and for a split second, I thought I saw something softer in his expression. But before I could dwell on it, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away.

I stood there for a moment, watching his back as he walked away, blending into the dimly lit street like a shadow. My mind was racing, trying to process what had just happened. The way he looked at me, the way he pulled me into his arms—it wasn’t just casual. It couldn’t be.

Shaking my head, I turned and continued my walk home. My chest felt tight, but I ignored it, convincing myself it was just the adrenaline wearing off.

By the time I reached my apartment, the silence of the building felt almost deafening. I leaned against my door, my fingers brushing against the spot where he had grabbed my arm. His touch still lingered, and I hated how much it affected me.

As I stepped inside, my phone buzzed on the table. I grabbed it, half-expecting a message from someone, anyone—but it was empty. No messages, no calls.

I sighed, tossing the phone onto the couch. My mind drifted back to Ethan, the way he effortlessly stepped in, the way he didn’t let me fall, the way he refused to let go.

“Why does he always do this?” I muttered to myself, pacing the small space of my living room.

He confused me. One moment, he was distant, playing the cold stranger, and the next, he was there—saving me, pulling me close, like he couldn’t help himself.

I flopped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Was he playing a game with me? Or was there something more to the way he acted?

Before I could overthink it any further, a knock on my door startled me. I shot up, my heart racing. It was late—too late for visitors.

Cautiously, I approached the door, peeking through the peephole. My breath hitched.

It was Ethan.

For a moment, I debated not opening the door, but something told me that wouldn’t stop him. Taking a deep breath, I unlocked it and pulled it open just enough to see him.

He stood there, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. “Forgot to ask,” he said, his voice low and steady, “did you recognize that guy?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What? No, I didn’t,” I replied honestly. “Why?”

He shrugged, but his eyes were sharp. “Just making sure. You shouldn’t be walking alone like that.”

I frowned, crossing my arms. “I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” he said looking away and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Is that all you came here for?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe, trying to sound unimpressed.

He tilted his head, studying me for a moment before saying, “Yeah. That’s all.” But the way he said it made me feel like there was more he wasn’t saying.

Before I could respond, he turned to leave. “Lock your door,” he added over his shoulder.

I watched him walk away again, that familiar ache settling in my chest. Ache? Hell, there's no aching or something. I'm being delusional.

And Lock my door? You better care about your lock not mine. Asshole..