I pointed at myself, fingers twitching, lips parting before I could stop them. And of course, he noticed. Joshua’s gaze locked onto me, unblinking, steady in that way that made every inch of me hyperaware.
He didn’t rush me. He didn’t cut me off. He just stood there, waiting, like my silence wasn’t awkward but deliberate, like my voice—if I gave it—would be the only thing worth hearing.
That stare. God,that stare. Every time I even thought about speaking, he gave me that same look. Patient, careful, listening harder than anyone had ever listened to me. And somehow, that was worse. So much worse.
My throat closed. Nerves tangled with frustration. I dropped my hand, shoved the notebook back up between us, pen scratching fast across the page.
I’ll start tomorrow.
I held it out, hoping, begging that would be enough to make him stop looking at me like that. His expression dropped the second he read the words. Not because I hadn’t spoken, I realised, but because of what I’d written.
“Why tomorrow?”His voice was low, clipped.
Pen to paper, I scrawled quickly.I want to plan a schedule.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Do it while watching.”
I bit down on my lip, the sharpness of his gaze making my chest tighten. My fingers moved before my courage gave out.It’s cold out here.
His reply was instant. “Wear my jacket.”
I shook my head, scribbled again.It’s okay. It’s expensive. I’ll be inside.
His jaw clenched, displeasure carved into every line of his face, but he didn’t stop me as I turned. My shoes crunched against the field as I walked away, pulse hammering in my ears.
I didn’t dare glance back. I didn’t have to. His stare pressed between my shoulder blades, heavy and unrelenting, like it could pin me in place if he willed it. Each step forward felt like dragging chains; every nerve in my body alive with the awareness that he was still watching.
And he didn’t look away. Not once.
I reached the entrance of the building, finally able to breathe properly again. His gaze stuck, embedded in the back of my head.Literally.I will never understand him. His motives, his reason or even his eyes. Those sharp, unreadable eyes that always make my throat close up. Make me nervous, make me feel small.
Why does he look at me like that? Like he knows something I don’t? Like he wants something from me?
My thoughts were interrupted when I saw a familiar face a few feet away from me. The girl who gave me her clothes just yesterday, the one who saved me from humiliation.
I had washed them just last night, packed and ready to hand them back to her today. I didn’t expect to see her like this, casually in the hallway. I had planned on handing these to reception so she could collect them from there. Her clothes were labelled with her name, Aly Ambrose, so I felt that was the best way to return these.
I had shoved a note and also sweets in there. Pathetic, I know, but I have nothing to give back but the little things.
I walked over, grip tightening around the bag straps before holding it out to her. She turned, eyes flicking down in surprise.
“Oh, thank you.” Aly smiled, easy and kind.
Why was she thanking me? My teeth caught the inside of my cheek. My palms felt clammy.
Thank you,I mouthed.
“Of course,” she said. “You looked super cute in it yesterday.”
The compliment caught me off guard. I flushed without meaning to. I’ve never had girl friends who talked like this, who dropped casual kindness so easily. It feels dangerous and wonderful all at once.
Aly crossed her arms and studied me with that same sharp look she’d used on the field… not mean, just direct. “Now, can you do something for me in return?” she asked.
My stomach tightened, and a flash of old fear spiked. The kind that showed up whenever someone asked something of me.
What if it’s a test? What if it’s a trap?
She watched me for a heartbeat, then her face softened. “Will you come join me and my friends for lunch?”
