Leo woke up before his alarm.
The sun was barely peeking through the curtains, casting golden streaks across his room, and for once, he didn't mind it. His body felt rested. His head was clear. No hangover. No regrets. Just… stillness.
He stared at the ceiling for a moment, blinking slowly.
There was a strange flutter in his chest. Not panic. Not dread.
Something closer to—excitement.
He sat up, stretched his arms over his head, and let out a long breath.
Then he smiled.
That was rare.
He threw the blanket aside and got out of bed, walking barefoot across the cold floor. He didn't feel sluggish like he usually did after a night of drinking. There was energy in his step. Like his body already knew this day was going to be different.
And deep down, he knew why.
Her.
The girl from yesterday.
She hadn't left his mind since the moment he saw her.
---
Downstairs, the smell of toast and coffee filled the air.
Leo padded into the kitchen to find his mother at the counter, humming softly as she arranged plates. His father was seated at the table with a newspaper and his usual black coffee.
Normally, Leo would breeze past them, grumble something under his breath, or ignore them completely.
But not today.
"Good morning," he said, grabbing a glass from the cupboard.
Both parents froze for a second.
Mrs. Reinhart turned, surprised. "Oh—morning, honey."
Mr. Reinhart glanced up from his paper, slightly skeptical. "You're awake early."
Leo shrugged, pouring himself some juice. "Felt like it."
He sat at the table and took a sip. "Did you sleep well, Mom?"
She blinked. "Uh… yeah. I did. Thanks for asking."
Leo nodded and glanced at his dad. "Morning, Dad."
Mr. Reinhart lowered the paper slowly. "Are you sick?"
Leo laughed under his breath. "No. Just… in a good mood."
His mother smiled, though cautiously. "That's… nice. We haven't seen you like this in a while."
Leo took a bite of toast and leaned back in his chair. "Maybe it's time I made some changes."
Both parents exchanged a look—half-shocked, half-suspicious—but said nothing.
Leo finished his breakfast in peace.
---
Upstairs, he stood in front of the mirror, running his fingers through his hair. He even sprayed a bit of cologne, which was laughable considering he wasn't meeting anyone. At least not officially.
But he was going back.
Back to that place. That school gate.
Back to the possibility of seeing her again.
---
He started his motorcycle around 9 a.m., the engine roaring with familiar power. The wind hit his jacket as he sped down the road, heart thumping—not from fear, but from something else entirely.
He didn't know what he was expecting.
Would she be there again?
Would she be alone again?
Would she still look so effortlessly unreachable?
He didn't have answers.
But he was going anyway.
The engine slowed to a quiet rumble as Leo approached the street corner.
He kept his distance—half a block away, just far enough not to be obvious, but close enough to watch the entrance of the school.
There were students again. Some walking, some waiting. Cars idled by the curb, horns honked occasionally, and teachers stood by the gate, monitoring the crowd. It was a typical school morning.
And then he saw her.
Same spot. Same posture. Same aura.
She stood alone under the tree near the gate, just like yesterday. Headphones on. Hands in her pockets. Gaze fixed somewhere on the pavement like she was deep in thought—or deep in nothing at all.
Leo felt it again.
That pull.
That strange urge to get closer, even though every part of him said don't.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the handlebars, watching.
She hadn't changed.
Still silent.
Still still.
Still untouched by the noise around her.
Leo swallowed.
For a split second, he wondered—What if I got off the bike? What if I just… walked over and said something?
But then what?
He didn't even know what he'd say.
"Hi, I saw you yesterday and now I can't stop thinking about you?"
Yeah, no. That sounds insane.
He stayed put.
The clock on his dashboard read 9:36 a.m.
He told himself he'd give it five more minutes. Just five. Then he'd leave.
But those five minutes stretched like elastic.
Every time a new student passed by her, Leo tensed—like someone might talk to her, ruin the image he had in his head. But no one did.
She was always alone.
By choice, it seemed.
It only made him more curious.
Why?
Was she cold to everyone? Did she hate mornings? Or people? Or both?
Was she always this quiet?
Did anyone know her name?
Did she ever smile?
And why—why—was he obsessing over a girl he'd never spoken to?
His phone buzzed.
A message from Evan.
> Evan: "You dead or something? Didn't see you online last night."
Leo ignored it.
He couldn't take his eyes off her.
He wanted to memorize her. The way she shifted her weight slightly. The way one of her earphone cords bounced when the wind passed. The way she blinked slowly, like time didn't apply to her.
Then it happened.
She turned.
Not all the way.
Just enough.
Her gaze lifted—slow, precise—and her eyes landed directly on him.
---
Leo froze.
His breath caught in his throat. His heart slammed so hard he swore she could hear it from there.
She looked at him.
Not for long.
Just a second.
A second too long.
And in that second, Leo felt seen.
Not just looked at—seen.
Like she was staring straight into the part of him he never let anyone reach.
It terrified him.
Panic surged through his chest like a wave crashing over him.
He sat up straight, yanked the throttle, and—
VROOOM!
The bike roared and he sped off down the road without looking back.
---
His heart was still racing five minutes later.
He didn't even know where he was going—he just needed to move. To run. To disappear.
His reflection flashed in store windows as he passed: wide eyes, clenched jaw, wind tearing through his hair.
He didn't slow down until he reached a quiet stretch of road by the river. He pulled over, cut the engine, and took off his helmet.
The silence was deafening.
"What the hell was that?" he whispered to himself.
She looked at him.
That was it.
No smile. No words. Just a glance.
But it was enough to send him running.
He stared down at his shaking hands.
Leo Reinhart—club rat, drunk king, feared by most, reckless to the core—had just panicked because a girl looked at him.
He laughed bitterly. "I'm pathetic."
But deep down, he knew it wasn't just embarrassment.
It was fear.
Something about her unsettled him.
She was too calm. Too quiet. Too unreadable.
And somehow, she made him feel like he was the one being observed. Exposed.
He couldn't explain it.
He didn't want to.
He just wanted to forget.
But he couldn't.
Because the way she turned… the way her eyes met his…
That would replay in his head tonight.
Again. And again. And again.
---
That evening, he barely touched his food.
His parents noticed but didn't say anything. They figured maybe the good mood from this morning had worn off.
He spent most of the night lying on his bed, headphones on, trying to drown the memory.
Didn't work.
No matter what he played—rock, electronic, even old jazz—nothing could erase her.
And in the darkness of his room, with only the glow of his bedside lamp, he found himself whispering a name he didn't even know.
---
Then finally, sleep took him.
But even in sleep, she lingered.
Like a shadow under his eyelids.
Like a whisper he couldn't forget.