Alex had always been a watcher.
She didn't need crowds. She preferred facts to feelings, books to boys, structure to spontaneity. Most people, to her, were puzzles with missing pieces—and once she figured them out, they lost their luster.
But Elliot Stillwater?
He was an entire maze drawn in invisible ink.
And now, she couldn't stop watching him.
It began innocently enough.
After their conversation under the sycamore tree, she found herself arriving to school earlier. Not to beat traffic or claim a front-row seat—but to see if he'd write something new on the chalkboard.
He always did.
Sometimes a quote. Sometimes a single cryptic line.
"A clock ticks louder when you're running from time."
"We fear death, but forget to fear apathy."
"Life asks no permission to be strange."
Each morning felt like opening a fortune cookie left by a ghost.
And yet, he walked the halls like nothing he wrote mattered.
That fascinated her more than the words.
So she started tracking his patterns.
Observation Log: Elliot Stillwater
Alex Dunphy's Notebook – Hidden Behind Her AP Chemistry Notes
7:13 AM: Arrives at school. Always alone. No car. Probably walks. Wears the same black jacket almost every day.
7:18 AM: Writes on the board in Room 106 before anyone arrives. No one seems to notice except me.
12:06 PM: Eats alone behind the science wing. Noticed he brings plain food—rice, soup, fruit. No meat. Possible vegetarian?
2:55 PM: Walks home alone. Doesn't take the main route. Always cuts through the park near Carpenter Street.
Notes: Doesn't text in class. Doesn't scroll. Doesn't fidget. Like he's already lived through boredom.
By Friday, it wasn't just curiosity. It was… compulsion.
She told herself it was academic. A case study. A walking philosophical paradox. Someone who lived like an ancient thinker wrapped in modern denim.
But a part of her—one she didn't want to examine—noticed other things too.
Like the way his eyes searched people's faces but rarely held their gaze.
Or how he paused when the bell rang, as if calculating his next move with inhuman stillness.
Or how he smiled once—just once—at her. And it had knocked something loose in her chest.
The library was quiet that afternoon, the way she liked it.
Alex had tucked herself into a corner of the philosophy section, flipping through a copy of The Denial of Death when movement caught her eye.
Elliot.
He stood two shelves away, head tilted slightly, one finger running along spines like a man touching old friends.
He chose a book—The Myth of Sisyphus—then sat near the window.
She should've gone back to reading.
She didn't.
Instead, she watched him.
He didn't highlight or underline. He just read slowly, lips barely moving, nodding occasionally as if in silent conversation with the dead author.
It wasn't romantic. It wasn't dramatic.
But Alex's heart beat faster anyway.
And then, something strange happened.
He looked up.
Directly at her.
Not startled. Not curious.
Just… calm.
Like he knew she'd been watching.
Like he'd expected it.
She flushed and ducked behind the shelves, heart thudding in her ears.
When she peeked again, he was gone.
But the book he'd taken remained on the table. Open to a marked page.
Later, in the quiet of her room, Alex read the same section he'd left open:
"The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."
She stared at it.
Was this what Elliot believed? That even in repeating the same strange days, there was a kind of joy in the effort? That meaning wasn't in the answers, but in the struggle to ask the right questions?
She couldn't sleep that night.
Saturday morning, she walked to the park near Carpenter Street.
Not to exercise.
Just to see if he was real outside school.
She spotted him twenty minutes in—sitting cross-legged on a bench, scribbling something into a worn journal. A cup of black coffee rested beside him.
She approached quietly, unsure why she was even doing this.
"Do you ever take a day off from being enigmatic?"
He looked up slowly. A small smile touched his lips.
"Do you ever take a day off from stalking philosophers?"
She blushed, lips twitching.
"Touché."
He gestured to the space beside him. "Sit, then. Since you're already invested."
She did.
For a while, they sat in silence.
Then she asked, "Why do you come here?"
"Because it's real. Children play. Dogs bark. Old men feed birds. Death and life aren't concepts here—they're neighbors."
She turned to him. "And you? Where do you fit in?"
He met her eyes. "I'm just visiting."
Something about the way he said it made her chest ache.
"You talk like you're not staying."
He looked away. "No one does, Alex. Not really."
She hated how true that felt.
They parted without plans.
But Alex knew she'd see him again.
Not because of fate. Not because of school.
Because she wanted to.
And wanting something—that deeply—scared her more than anything.