Chapter Two: The Man I Didn't Know I Was Waiting For
It happened by accident. Not a big, dramatic one. Just one of those small, clumsy moments that life is full of.
Sophia and I were crossing the old courtyard between the Philosophy and History buildings. Our arms were full of books. The wind was tugging at our coats and whipping my long hair across my face. I was trying to hold everything and keep my hair out of my eyes when it happened.
Someone bumped into me from behind. It wasn't rough, just a distracted student in a hurry. But it was enough.
My notebook slipped from under my arm. It hit the ground with a soft thump. Papers, all my notes on Camus and Sisyphus, flew out. They scattered across the wet stone path like confused birds.
"Oh—I'm sorry!" the person called over their shoulder, already moving away.
"It's okay," I mumbled, though they were gone. I bent down to grab my things.
That's when my foot caught on an uneven stone. My balance vanished. The world tilted. I braced myself for the hard, embarrassing fall onto the cold pavement.
But I didn't fall.
A hand closed around my wrist. It was firm, warm, and steady. It pulled me back upright before I could even gasp. Another hand settled briefly, just for a second, at the small of my back. It was a touch that said, I've got you. You're safe.
"Careful."
The voice was low. It wasn't loud, but it cut right through the courtyard noise. It was calm. Completely certain.
I looked up.
And for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
He was tall. He wore a simple black sweater and dark jeans, but he didn't blend in. He stood out. His face was all sharp, clean lines—a strong jaw, a straight nose. But it was his eyes that held me. Dark, deep-set, and intensely focused. He was looking right at me, not past me. He wasn't smiling, but he didn't look angry either. He just looked… present. Completely there.
"Are you hurt?" he asked. His gaze scanned my face, checking.
I shook my head. My voice seemed to have left my body. All I could do was stare.
He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Then he let go of my wrist. His touch left a warm spot on my skin. He crouched down in one smooth motion and began gathering my papers. He didn't just scoop them up. He straightened the pages, tapped them neatly against his knee, and handed the stack back to me. His movements were precise. Careful.
"You should watch your step," he said. His tone wasn't scolding. It was just a fact.
"Thank you," I finally managed to whisper. My heart was doing a strange, fluttery dance in my chest. "You saved me from a very undignified meeting with the pavement."
Something flickered in his eyes then. Was it amusement? A hint of a smile? It was gone before I could be sure.
"You'd have caught yourself," he said, his voice still that low, steady rumble. "I just helped."
Then he stepped back. He was already turning to leave, as if this was a normal Tuesday interruption. As if he hadn't just turned my entire afternoon upside down with a single touch.
I stood there, clutching my books to my chest like a shield. My heart was beating too fast. The courtyard noise rushed back into my ears.
"Wow," Sophia's voice said beside me. She sounded deeply amused.
I blinked, turning to her. "What?"
She was staring after him, a knowing smile on her face. "That was dramatic. Like something out of a movie."
Before I could even process that, she lifted her hand and called out, "Rowan! Wait up!"
He stopped. He turned back.
Sophia walked over to him like it was nothing. She slipped her arm through his like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then she looked back at me, her smile widening.
"Aira," she said, her voice bright. "Come here. This is my brother."
Brother.
The word landed in my stomach with a soft thud. Of course. The same sharp intensity in the eyes. The same dark hair.
"Rowan Royce," Sophia added, as if presenting a rare artifact.
He looked at me again. His expression was polite, but unreadable. A calm, cool mask. "Nice to meet you," he said. His voice was formal now. Distant.
"Nice to meet you, too," I replied. My own voice came out softer than I wanted. Shy.
He gave a single, short nod. Then he turned, and with Sophia still linked to his arm, they walked away. Their voices—his low, hers lively—faded into the hum of students.
I stood there for another minute. Just standing. The wind chilled the spot on my back where his hand had been. I hugged my books tighter.
I walked back to the dorm alone. But the silence in my head wasn't the same. It wasn't empty. It was full of a low, steady voice and the memory of firm hands.
---
The dorm hallway always smelled like instant noodles and lemon-scented floor cleaner. It was weirdly comforting. I could hear someone's bass-heavy music throbbing through the wall. Thump-thump-thump.
I dropped my heavy bag onto my bed with a groan and kicked off my shoes. My whole body sighed with relief.
Sophia, however, was buzzing. She leaned against my wobbly desk, arms crossed, watching me with a look I knew meant trouble.
"So," she began, her tone falsely casual. "You know, you didn't breathe for a full five seconds back there."
I froze halfway through pulling my hair into a messy bun. "What are you talking about?"
She grinned. "When Rowan caught you. You went completely still. No breathing. Very dramatic. Very… storybook."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "It was not storybook," I insisted, turning quickly to organize my books on the shelf. "I was startled. I almost ate pavement."
"Mhm," she hummed, nodding slowly. She wasn't buying it. "And then a tall, dark, and mysteriously handsome man appeared. Like a knight. But in a sweater."
"He didn't appear," I argued, my back to her. "He was just there. And he just helped. It was a normal thing to do."
Sophia laughed—a bright, clear sound. "Aira. Sweet, logical Aira. My brother does not 'just help' people. Not strangers in courtyards."
That made me stop. I glanced over my shoulder at her. "He doesn't?"
She shook her head, her expression turning a little more serious. "No. He's… careful. Selective. He minds his own business. Usually."
The heat in my neck crept up to my ears. "Well, he was just being polite. You're imagining a whole romance novel."
"Oh, I am absolutely not imagining the look on your face," she said, hopping up to sit on the edge of my bed. She swung her legs. "You had that soft, wide-eyed, 'what-just-happened' stare. It's a classic look. I've seen it before."
"There was no look," I muttered, sitting down hard in my desk chair.
"There was a moment," she corrected, her voice gentle but teasing. "Don't be embarrassed. It happens to everyone around him. He has that… effect."
That did not make me feel better. I picked up a pen and started clicking it. "Your brother is… intense."
Sophia's smile softened. "That's one word for him."
"Does he always look like he's thinking about a million serious things?"
"Yes."
"Even when he's just… standing there?"
"Especially when he's just standing there."
I hesitated. The question felt silly, but I had to ask. "Does he ever smile? A real one?"
She laughed again. "Rarely. It's a rare and precious event. Consider yourself lucky if you ever see it."
My chest felt strangely tight. I looked down at my hands.
Sophia leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So? First impression? Be honest."
I shook my head, still looking down. "He's… not my type." The words sounded weak even to me.
She raised one eyebrow. "You didn't answer the question."
I opened my mouth. Then closed it. I had no answer. My mind was just a replay of strong hands and a voice saying Careful.
Sophia burst out laughing. "Oh, this is perfect. This is going to be so much fun."
I groaned, dropping my head onto my desk. "Sophia, please. No."
She stood up, stretching her arms over her head. "Relax. I won't tell him. Not yet, anyway."
My head snapped up. "Yet?"
She just winked at me as she walked to the door. "Get some rest, Philosopher. Tomorrow, maybe we'll have a proper introduction. Without the near-death experience."
She left, closing the door softly behind her. Her cheerful humming faded down the hall.
I lay back on my scratchy blanket and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. I told myself she was being silly. She loved drama. She saw stories everywhere.
It was nothing. A random act of kindness. A cute guy who happened to be her brother.
But when I closed my eyes, I didn't see the cracks in the ceiling. I saw sharp, dark eyes looking straight into mine. I felt the ghost of a steadying hand on my back.
And I heard a low, calm voice in the quiet of my room.
I've got you.
No matter how I tried to think of Plato or dinner or the essay due Friday, I couldn't think of anything else.