The Unseen Ties

In the Wake of His Presence

Her hands trembled just enough for her to notice, fingers curling tightly into fists at her sides as if bracing for a blow that might never come. The faintest echo of remembered pain ghosted through her, a memory her body couldn't quite let go of, no matter how still he walked ahead of her now.

He walked ahead, his pace unhurried but deliberate, like he knew exactly where he was going and exactly why she would follow.

He didn't glance back-not once-but there was no doubt he was aware of her.

He slowed. Just enough to allow her to catch up, but never enough to make her feel like they were walking side by side. It was intentional, she knew. Deliberate. And it terrified her-this constant push and pull. Why? What was he trying to do?

Then he slowed, his head tilting ever so slightly, like he knew the exact moment she would catch up. Without warning, his voice broke the rhythm of her steps. "Which class are you in?"

The question landed like a stone dropped in water-rippling, unsettling. She flinched, the air in her lungs sticking like glue. "Class 1-D," she managed to whisper, her voice barely breaking the distance between them. A tightness coiled in her chest.

The question felt meaningless, he already knew that, didn't he?, but was asking anyway.

He whispered to her "same as me, then." a statement that barely felt like one.

Her chest tightened. Of course. Of course, it was. Why did it feel like he was asking for confirmation?

His eyes flicked toward her, and for a moment, it was like his gaze had stripped her bare. Cold. He was peeling away her layers-her thoughts, her fears, her defense-bit by bit, and all she could do was stand there, exposed.

Her gaze dropped to the ground, her eyes locking on the scuffed tips of his shoes, grounding herself in the smallest detail to avoid the intensity of his scrutiny. It didn't help. The world outside that narrow focus felt too big, too loud, too much.

The silence grew, stretching like a thread pulled taut.

Ahead, the gym doors loomed wide open, spilling out the murmur of voices and shuffling footsteps. He stopped just shy of the threshold, his body angled away from her but still impossibly present. "Go on ahead," he said, the words soft but unyielding. "I'll follow."

Her body froze. The thought of stepping through those doors without him felt... impossible. Terrifying. Her fists clenched harder, her nails digging into her skin until it almost hurt. For a moment, she thought she'd draw blood, but the pain was too distant, too far from the raw fear gnawing at her insides.

"I'd rather stay," she said, the words tumbling out before she could even stop them. They hung in the air, fragile but defiant.

That made him turn, his gaze sliding over her-not directly, not fully, but enough for her to feel the weight of his scrutiny. Her stomach churned. He was looking at her like a puzzle, like she was something to be solved, and she hated how small that made her feel.

"You'll miss the entrance ceremony," he said, each word deliberate, almost testing.

"I don't mind." Her voice came quicker than she intended, betraying a flicker of nerves she couldn't fully suppress. The moment the words left her, she regretted them, flinching as though expecting a harsh reprimand-or worse.

"Suit yourself," he said, his voice flat. As if her decision meant nothing at all. As if it was all a game,

It was as if she was caught in an invisible web, each thread pulling her deeper into the uncertainty of his presence, into whatever game he was playing.
_____

They moved away from the gymnasium into a new building, the hum of voices behind them fading into silence, replaced by the soft scuff of their footsteps. Each step seemed purposeful, deliberate, as if he were carving a path she was obligated to follow. And she did.

Her legs moved without thought, her steps light but hesitant. She followed him, her mind a riot of questions she couldn't ask and answers she couldn't bear to hear. She kept her distance-close enough to avoid being left behind, far enough to cling to the illusion of safety. It wasn't real, of course. She knew that. Safety didn't exist with him. Not truly.

The corridor stretched ahead of them, dim and echoing. The shadows of lockers and the faint hum of fluorescent lights seemed to deepen the quiet tension that clung to the air. Her lips pressed into a tight line as she watched his back, his shoulders relaxed, his movements unhurried. He didn't need to rush. Somehow, that only made him seem more dangerous.

Then he stopped. Abruptly.

Her breath snagged in her throat, and she skidded to a halt, her body jerking awkwardly to avoid running into him. He didn't move, didn't even glance back, but she felt it-the weight of his awareness pressing down on her like an unseen hand.

For a moment, he just stood there, his posture loose but somehow still coiled with potential energy. Not like a statue. No, there was nothing passive about him. He was more like a predator in the moments before the pounce, his stillness sharper, more deliberate.

Her stomach twisted. Was this it? Did she do something wrong?

Her hands twitched at her sides, and she squeezed her eyes shut for the briefest of moments, bracing herself. Her thoughts scattered, diving into worst-case scenarios she couldn't stop from forming. A hand raised. Words that cut. Or worse-silence, stretching endlessly until it became a weapon of its own.

But then he spoke, his voice flat, unremarkable. "I'm going to use the restroom."

Restroom?" The word rattled in her mind, hollow and meaningless. It didn't fit. Didn't make sense. She blinked, waiting for something else, for the cold blade hidden in his ordinary tone.

But nothing came....Restroom.

She'd braced herself for a blow, for something sharp and familiar. But there was no edge to his words, no warning. And that-God, that-was worse. At least with pain, she knew what to do, when to beg?. But this? This left her drifting, unmoored, waiting for a wave she couldn't see coming.

Her fingers unfurled, and she noticed for the first time the faint ache in her palms. She glanced down. Tiny crescent moons dotted her skin, the ghostly evidence of her clenched fists.

She forced a breath in-slow, unsteady, but deep enough to quiet the buzzing in her chest. Her shoulders dropped a fraction, but she didn't let herself relax. Not fully. That would be a mistake.

He turned to face her then-not fully, just enough that she could catch the edge of his expression. His eyes were empty and unreadable, flicked to hers.

And then, without preamble, he shrugged off his coat.

The movement was so casual, so mundane, that for a moment she didn't know what to do. He extended it toward her, his hand gripping the collar with a careless indifference. "Hold this," he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She stared at it. At him. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed again. She didn't trust herself to speak.

Her hands trembled as she reached out, her fingers brushing the fabric before curling around it. The coat was heavier than she expected.

And just like that, he was gone.

He didn't glance back as he walked away, his footsteps fading into the corridor. She stood there, the coat draped awkwardly over her arms, her mind a haze of confusion and unease.

He hadn't hit her. He hadn't shouted. He hadn't even spared her a sharp word. And somehow, that made it worse. More unpredictable. More terrifying in ways she couldn't fully articulate.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, staring down at the coat.

It smelled faintly clean, sharp, maybe soap or cologne. She hated herself for noticing.
Hated that her fingers stopped trembling as the coat's warmth seeped into her skin, grounding her in a way she didn't want.