The next day Susan didn't wake up afraid of Dexter.
That bothered her more than anything.
Fear would have been a relief — a stable, predictable warning sign that said stay away. A reasonable girl should have stayed away. A reasonable girl shouldn't replay every moment with someone who made her pulse jump for the wrong reasons.
But her body didn't respond with fear.
It responded with awareness.
Her brain whispered danger.
Her heart whispered fascination.
And fascination was louder.
She stood before the mirror brushing her hair like she was trying to tame the chaos inside her rather than the knots in her curls. Her reflection looked the same — same pale skin, same dark eyes — yet she felt like something underneath had shifted. The safest thing she could do was forget him, erase him, push him out of the corners of her mind.
But the harder she tried, the more her memory betrayed her.
His eyes.
His voice..
His confidence...
The way he spoke like he already knew what she'd say next.
She hated that she remembered the exact warmth in his breath when he stood close. She hated that her heart reacted before her thoughts did. She hated that she couldn't decide whether she was drawn to something good or whether she was being pulled toward a cliff with her eyes open.
She wasn't scared of him-
She was scared of what he awakened in her.
School wasn't an escape — it was a stage where every breath was part of an act. She tried to behave as if nothing was happening, as if she had no reason to avoid him, as if she didn't feel his presence before she even saw him.
He didn't behave like anything was different either.
When she walked past him, he didn't chase her.
When she ignored him, he didn't stare.
He just existed somewhere in her awareness like a shadow that didn't need light to be real.
And somehow that was worse.
During break, Emily dragged her to the quiet garden behind the library. Students rarely came there — maybe because it was too peaceful, too forgotten. The air smelled of wet leaves and old stone. Emily plopped beside her on the cold bench and rambled about teachers and homework, her voice energetic and careless.
Susan barely heard a word.
Her mind kept whispering that Dexter would show up there — not because he should, but because she expected him to. She hated herself for expecting him. And when he didn't come, something inside her twisted with a disappointment she couldn't explain.
What is wrong with me?
She pressed her fingertips against her temples, as if she could squeeze the thoughts out of her head.
"Susan?" Emily leaned closer. "You're acting really weird. Did something happen?"
"I'm just tired. I didn't sleep." The lie slipped out too easily.
Emily studied her for a moment, then nodded, accepting it.
But before Susan could breathe, she saw movement through the large glass panel of the library door. Dexter stood inside, speaking to another teacher. His posture was relaxed, confident, polite — pure professionalism on the surface.
But the reflection in the glass was pointed directly at her.
He wasn't facing her.
He wasn't even near her.
Yet his reflection felt like he was watching her from inside the mirror.
He knew she was looking.
He knew she would look.
He didn't move toward her.
He didn't smirk.
He didn't acknowledge her at all.
But the reflection did not break until she looked away first.
Her stomach tightened with sharp, unexpected heat.
Emily followed her line of sight and exhaled, her voice dropping to a warning tone. "Susan, please don't fall for him. You're too gentle for someone like that."
Susan's heartbeat stumbled. "What do you mean someone like that?"
Emily shrugged like it was obvious. "He's too perfect. People like that hide something. And when they finally show their real selves, it's always too late."
Emily spoke casually, but the words carved themselves into Susan's mind.
Perfect.
Dangerous.
Hidden motives.
Minutes later the library door opened, and Dexter walked by again — not toward them, not even glancing their way. He carried himself like someone who knew exactly how much attention he commanded without needing to ask for it. The teachers trusted him. Students admired him. People saw him as the ideal man, composed and altruistic.
A perfect mask.
Susan was the only one who had seen a crack.
And once you see a crack, you can't pretend the surface is flawless anymore.
The garden became suffocating, and eventually they returned to class. Susan expected awkwardness, avoidance, something to indicate the tension between them. Instead, Dexter acted as though she were just another student. His voice remained steady while teaching, patient and articulate. Not once did he look at her.
She almost convinced herself she imagined everything — until the end of class.
He walked past her desk, placing her graded assignment down. A small handwritten note was circled at the bottom.
You read people better than you think.
Her breath caught painfully.
She hadn't written anything about emotions or psychology — it was just an essay about a novel. Yet somehow he had seen her between the lines, as though he could filter through her words and pull meaning she didn't know she was revealing.
Her pen slipped from her fingers. It made a soft sound when it hit the desk, but it felt like thunder.
Students began to pack up and leave. She didn't move. Her body locked in place, trapped between fear and longing.
Dexter reached the door. He paused — not turning, not facing her — just pausing in a way that said he already knew she was still sitting there.
"You should stop trying to be afraid of me," he said quietly. Not loud, not for the class — just for her. "You're not built for fear. You're built for instinct."
Her throat tightened, words refusing to form. She wasn't even sure what she wanted to say. Was she supposed to push him away? Demand distance? Admit something she didn't understand herself?
He didn't wait for an answer.
He walked away, leaving her frozen in her seat.
And the most terrifying part wasn't what he said.
It was what she realized afterward.
For the first time in her life, she didn't know whether she wanted to escape someone…
or run straight toward them.
But curiosity was a door.
And she was standing too close to it.
She didn't know if Dexter would push it open…
or whether she already had.