The school grounds were buzzing more than usual. I barely noticed as I walked toward the library for our project meeting. My mind was a storm of anger, confusion, and something else I refused to name.
Adrian.
I hated him. I hated how he got under my skin. I hated the way he could make other girls swoon and my heart race at the same time. I hated that I had watched him flirt with someone else at home yesterday and hadn't been able to stop myself.
And now I had to see him again.
I spotted him leaning against the courtyard wall, dark skin glowing in the late afternoon sunlight, perfectly composed, perfectly smug.
He saw me almost immediately and smirked. That smirk that drove me insane, the one that promised trouble.
"Well, well," he said softly, tilting his head. "Look who's here."
I clenched my fists at my sides. "I'm not here for you."
He shrugged lazily. "Of course not."
But the way he said it, I knew he knew better.
We walked to the library in tense silence. He fell into step beside me, just close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. Every step he took seemed to be deliberate, designed to get under my skin.
"Chelsea," he said suddenly, low and teasing. "About yesterday… I saw you spying."
I froze. My stomach dropped. "I… I wasn't spying!" I snapped, though my voice trembled slightly.
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Sure. That's exactly what it looked like."
I hated the way his dark eyes pierced right through me, reading every emotion, every betrayal I tried to hide.
"Why are you always… like this?" I muttered, shoving my notebook into my bag.
"Like what?" he asked innocently. But the corner of his lips twitched.
"Annoying!" I snapped. "Cocky! Infuriating!"
"And yet," he said softly, stepping a little closer, "you can't stop looking at me."
I whirled around, glaring at him. "I am not looking at you!"
His smirk deepened. "Not? Then why is your face red?"
I swallowed hard. I hated the truth in his words. He could see everything ln my anger, my confusion, my growing reactions to him.
The library was quiet except for the sound of our footsteps.
We sat across from each other at the table, working on formulas and diagrams, but every glance, every subtle movement felt loaded. He leaned forward just slightly, enough that our knees almost brushed under the table. My fingers tightened around my pen.
He noticed.
"Careful," he said softly, teasing. "You might damage your precious reputation by being… distracted."
I shot him a venomous glare. "You're unbelievable."
"And yet," he whispered, voice low, "you can't deny it."
I slammed my notebook shut, frustrated. "You're impossible, Adrian!"
Then he did it.
He leaned closer, just enough for me to smell his cologne, the faint, intoxicating scent of him filling my senses. I froze. My heart hammered in my chest.
"You know," he murmured, "you're very interesting when you're angry."
I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I hated myself for it. I hated him for it.
And yet, I couldn't stop noticing him.
The sound of the library door opening made me jump slightly.
It was her. The girl he had flirted with at home. She gave him a shy smile, holding a notebook. Adrian's dark eyes immediately caught hers. He leaned closer, just enough to make her shiver. His voice was soft, teasing that same low tone that made my stomach knot.
I gritted my teeth, furious.
I could feel my hands trembling slightly as I watched him brush his hand near hers again, not touching fully, just enough to make her react. And she did. She shivered, lips parted, completely under his control.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to shove him. I wanted to disappear.
But I stayed. Because I had to see it. I hated that I had to see it, but I couldn't turn away.
When the girl left, Adrian turned to me slowly.
"You're tense," he said softly, almost like he was observing me.
I shot him a glare. "No. I'm fine."
"Sure," he murmured, smirking. "You're just trying very hard to hide the fact that you're… affected by me."
I felt my jaw clench. "I'm not affected by you."
He leaned closer again, dark eyes glinting, teasing. "You're lying. I can see it in your eyes."
I slammed my notebook shut, standing up. "I can't believe how infuriating you are."
"And yet," he whispered, stepping closer, "you still stayed to watch me."
My chest tightened. My pulse was racing uncontrollably. I wanted to push him away. I wanted to leave.
But I also… wanted to stay.
I hated that feeling.
The next few minutes passed in tense silence. I focused on writing notes furiously, ignoring the way he subtly leaned closer, the way his presence seemed to fill the entire room. Every glance, every smirk, every soft word was designed to tease me, to push me to the edge.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, I grabbed my bag and stood abruptly.
"You're impossible," I muttered again, though my voice shook slightly.
"And yet," he said softly, stepping just close enough that our arms almost brushed, "you're going to keep noticing me. You'll see — you can't escape me."
I wanted to run. I wanted to scream.
Instead, I walked away, my chest tight, heart racing, mind spinning.
That night, in my room, I sat on my bed, notebook pressed to my chest, thinking about him.
I hated him.
I hated the way he made me feel things I didn't want to feel. I hated the way he teased and controlled situations effortlessly. I hated that he flirted with other girls in front of me, and yet…
I couldn't stop thinking about him.
I clenched my fists.
He wasn't just a problem at school anymore.
He was everywhere.
And I hated it.
And maybe… hated him a little less than I wanted to admit.