But I did.
Because I’d been watching him long before he ever saw me.
And now that hehad, now that he’d looked at me like I wasn’t invisible, I couldn’t stop.
I shivered, the early morning chill cutting through my sweatshirt. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, wishing I could shake off the hollow, jittery feeling that came with being here.
Yesterday, I’d done so well. I’d stayed in my room. Stayed safe. Stayed sane. I even thought maybe I could handle it, handlehim, like a normal person.
Even when the pizza showed up.
Someone had knocked, and I hadn’t even gone to the door at first. I’d assumed it was a mistake…because no one ever knocked on my door.
But after a minute, curiosity won. I’d cracked the door open, and there it was.
A pizza box sat right at my feet, still warm, grease staining the cardboard. No sign of a note or name.
I’d stood there staring at it, debating what to do.
Eventually, hunger had won over paranoia, and I’d carried it inside, telling myself it was just some weird mix-up.
I knew it wasn’t from him.Of courseit wasn’t.
But the second I took a bite, my mind betrayed me anyway—picturing Matty in the hallway, that crooked grin on his face as he set the box down.
Like he knew I hadn’t eaten. Like he was thinking about me, too.
It was ridiculous. Impossible.
And I still couldn’t stop replaying it.
After that, the quiet had turned into noise, and the noise had turned into ache, and by midnight I’d cracked wide open with the urge to see him.
Now, I was standing under the faint streetlight across from his driveway, trying to convince myself that this wasn’t what it looked like.
I wasn’t stalking him.
I just…couldn’t stay away.
I just needed proof he was real, that the way he’d touched me and looked at me and said those things in that bathroom wasn’t something I’d dreamed up.
The wind picked up, tugging at my hair and the hem of my hoodie. I took a step closer to the curb, my pulse pounding so loud it echoed in my ears.
A shadow moved behind the blinds, and my breath hitched.
He was there. Awake. Moving.
I knew I should walk away before he saw me, before this crossed into something even worse than it already was.
But my feet wouldn’t move. They felt rooted to the pavement, like the sight of him had pinned me in place.
All I could do was stand there, staring at that sliver of light, pretending I wasn’t hoping he’d come to the window.
My throat burned as I tried to swallow past the mix of nerves and want twisting inside me.
A part of me almost called his name, just to see what would happen. Just to know if he’d come outside.
But the saner part, the one still clinging to pride and fear, kept me still.
