"Love you too," I say automatically. Then he's gone, climbing into a taxi, and I'm left standing on the corner.
The relief that washes over me is immediate and overwhelming. I can breathe again. I can think again. I don't have to perform anymore.
I walk back to my dorm slowly, and for the first time all weekend, I feel like myself.
—
Monday morning,I go to the coffee shop near campus before my nine o'clock class. I'm waiting for my latte, lost in thought about the reading I need to finish, when I glance up and see him. The dark-haired man from my seminar. He's at a corner table, laptop open, completely absorbed in whatever he's working on.
He doesn't look up, doesn't seem to notice me, and I tell myself it's just coincidence. Lots of students come to this coffee shop. It's close to campus, the coffee is good, and it's quiet in the mornings.
I take my latte and leave before he can see me.
On Tuesday, I'm at the library, tucked into my new favorite study carrel on the third floor. It's quiet up here, away from the main reading rooms, and I can focus on my work without distraction.
I'm deep in an article about Minoan religious practices when I see movement in my peripheral vision. I glance up, and there he is—the dark-haired man from the seminar, walking past with an armful of books, heading toward the stacks.
He doesn't look my way or seem to notice me, and I tell myself again that it's just coincidence. The library is huge, but graduate students tend to gravitate toward the same areas. It doesn't mean anything.
Wednesday feels stranger. I'm leaving my building to go for a run when I see him across the street. He's on his phone, talking to someone, and his brow is furrowed, as if he’s having an intense conversation. Our eyes meet for just a second, and I feel that same electric jolt I felt in the seminar. Then he turns away, continuing his conversation, and I'm left standing on my building's steps, my heart pounding for no apparent reason.
It's a coincidence. It has to be. New York is a big city, but the university area is small. Of course I'm going to run into classmates occasionally.
But something about the frequency of it, the way he always seems to be just there, makes my skin prickle with awareness.
On the next day that I have Dr. Kouris's seminar, I arrive early and take my usual seat, pulling out my notes from last week's discussion. The classroom fills slowly, and I'm hyperaware of every person who walks through the door.
When he finally arrives, he takes the same seat he had last week. Back row, but positioned so he has a clear view of the entire room. Our eyes meet for just a moment, and he gives me a small nod, nothing more. I turn back to my notes, but I can feel his presence behind me. His attention feels like a physical weight.
Dr. Kouris begins the seminar, and I force myself to focus on the discussion. But I'm distracted by the awareness of him sitting behind me, by the memory of seeing him at the coffee shop, the library, outside my building.
It's nothing. It's coincidence. I'm being paranoid.
But when class ends, and I gather my things, I can't help glancing back at him. He's talking to another student,completely absorbed in the conversation, and he doesn't look my way.
I leave quickly, before he can notice me watching.
—
That night,Thad calls. He's back in Charleston, back to his normal routine, and he wants to tell me about his day. I listen and make appropriate responses, but my mind is elsewhere.
I can’t stop thinking about the weekend—the way Thad ordered my food, dismissed my academic interests, touched me constantly despite my discomfort. About the relief I felt when he left.
I also can’t stop thinking about the dark-haired man from the seminar, about the way I keep seeing him around campus, and the electric awareness I feel every time our eyes meet.
As Thad chatters on, I think about my father's expectations, about the life that's been planned for me, about the future I'm supposed to want. And I wonder what's wrong with me that I can't just be grateful for what I have. That I can't just accept the good fortune of being engaged to a successful, handsome man from a good family.
"Savannah?" Thad's voice pulls me back to the present. "Are you listening?"
"Sorry, yes. I'm just tired."
"You're always tired lately." There's an edge to his voice. "Maybe you should see a doctor. Make sure everything's okay."
"I'm fine. Just adjusting to the program."
"Well, adjust faster. I miss my girl. The real you, not this distracted version."
The real me.I wonder if he's ever actually met the real me. If anyone has.
