Chapter 22 - Chapter 22 — The Way He Looks at Me When I’m Not Looking

The next morning, I tried hard not to go to the café, telling myself he needed space after last night. But by noon, my feet carried me there anyway. The bell chimed when I walked in. He was behind the counter—and the moment his eyes met mine, he froze. Only for a second, but enough for me to feel it. Then he forced composure into his voice. "What would you like today?" Too formal. Too distant. I swallowed. "…My usual." He nodded and turned away quickly, but I caught it—the flicker of his gaze drifting back to me when he thought I wasn't looking. Longing. Restraint. A storm he didn't want me to see. When he returned with my drink, his fingers paused just an inch from mine. An inch that felt electric. "You should sleep earlier," he murmured. I blinked. "How did you know I didn't?" "You looked tired when you walked in." His voice softened unconsciously. I studied him for a moment. "You look tired too." He stiffened with a subtle, almost embarrassed twitch. "I'm fine." But he wasn't fine. The faint dark circles under his eyes said otherwise. "You didn't sleep last night," I said quietly. His jaw tightened again. "…Not really." "Because of me?" The question slipped out. He inhaled sharply. "Don't ask questions like that." "Why not?" "Because I don't know how to answer them without crossing a line." His voice was low, raw, dangerous. Before I could respond, a small group of students came in. He had to turn away to take their orders, but even while he worked, his gaze kept drifting back to me unconsciously—fast, guilty glances that he tried to hide but failed miserably at. At one point our eyes met across the room. He looked away almost instantly, but not before I saw it: the longing he refused to acknowledge. When I finished my drink and got up, he noticed immediately. "You're leaving already?" The question came out too quickly. Too naturally. "I have a class," I said softly. His expression shifted—just a flicker, but unmistakably disappointment. He quickly tried to conceal it. "Do you… need me to walk you?" My heart fluttered. "You don't have to." "I know." A beat. "But I want to." I nodded. We walked in comfortable silence. Halfway there, he finally spoke. "I shouldn't have waited for you last night." "But you did," I said. "That's the problem. I keep doing things I shouldn't." "Why?" He stopped walking completely. Turning slowly toward me, he said, "Because when it comes to you, I don't think straight." My breath caught. He blinked, realizing what he'd admitted, and dragged a hand over his face. "Forget I said that." "I won't." "I know," he muttered, voice cracking slightly. When we reached my classroom building, he hesitated before saying, "…Text me when you're back at your dorm." "Why?" "So I know you're safe." My chest tightened. "Okay." Relief washed over his features so visibly it made my heart ache. "Go," he whispered gently. But just as I turned away, he added, barely audible: "Or I won't be able to walk away." I froze. When I looked back—he was already gone.