Avalyn froze. The stranger stood before her, every detail carved into her mind: dark hair falling in soft waves across his forehead, a square jaw clenched as if holding centuries of secrets, and silver eyes that gleamed like liquid moonlight.
They were impossible to look away from—bright, deep, and almost unbearable.
He stepped closer, and she instinctively took a step back, torn between fear and fascination.
His hand hovered near her chest, warm in a way she couldn't explain, and then he grinned—slow, knowing, impossible to ignore.
"You can see me," he murmured, low and deliberate.
"Are you some kind of ghost?" Avalyn asked, voice trembling but trying to sound casual.
"Kind of," he said, running a hand through his raven-black hair. Even that simple gesture made something flare inside her—a fire she didn't understand.
She tried to move past him, to escape the magnetic pull of his presence. For a heartbeat, he didn't stop her; for another, his gaze held her in place, and then he vanished, leaving only the memory of silver eyes and a faint whisper of cold air.
At home, Avalyn showered and ate, trying to push the encounter from her mind. But even under warm water and the safety of her small apartment, the image of him lingered: the curve of his jaw, the dark sheen of his leather jacket, the impossibly pale skin against the black fabric.
She sank onto the green sofa—her sister's color choice, which she always hated—and let the memory burn quietly in her chest.
She tried to focus on her sketches. A portrait of a girl with tawny skin and golden undertones lay unfinished.
Avalyn's brush moved almost on instinct, bringing the girl to life on the page. When she signed her name in the corner, she felt a small spark of pride—an anchor in a day that seemed otherwise consumed by his impossible presence.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the large, stained windows of the art studio. Eric nudged her, grinning. "You should try it after class. Trust me, it'll be fine."
"I doubt it," Avalyn replied, shading the model's shoulder. But her mind drifted again to the stranger—the gleam of his silver eyes, the way his bare chest had looked beneath that jacket, and how he had seemed to notice her in a way no one ever had.
Her gaze flicked to the window. At first, she thought it was a trick of the light. But there he was—a dark figure, still and watching from beyond the glass. Avalyn's heart thudded painfully in her chest.
"I see him," she whispered to Eric.
"See who?" he asked, glancing where she pointed.
Before she could answer, she had bolted, weaving through the crowded hall, students shouting after her. The courtyard was empty. No one.
Only the weight of a gaze she could feel on her skin, though she could not see him.
By the time she reached her front door at dusk, her hands were trembling as she dug for her keys. Then she heard it—a soft, low voice near her ear:
"Hey there, Ava darling."
Her breath caught.
She turned. And there he was. Standing, impossibly still, impossibly beautiful, as though the night itself had shaped him for this very moment