The next few days pass in a blur of classes, assignments, and late nights spent in front of my easel. I hardly have time to think about the strange encounter at the supermarket or tease Julia about her new necklace given by her boyfriend Liam.
But somehow, there is one thing that I couldn't stop thinking about. Theo's stare. He always had an intense gaze. I still don't know how to feel about that. Should I be scared? Intimidated? One thing for sure, he lingers in the back of my mind, like a stubborn brushstroke I can't erase.
It's Friday afternoon in spring. The scenery is too beautiful to be missed. I'm sitting outside one of the campus cafes, my sketchbook balanced on my knees. Julia would be here in fifteen minutes, but I know her better that she'll be late—based on experiences.
I'm halfway through shading a stubborn fold of fabric when a shadow falls across my page. I glance up, squinting against the light. That's when I immediately held my breath. Theo.
He's dressed neatly like usual. Buttoned up shirt, long pants, shoes. The sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A book tucked loosely in one hand. Somehow he still manages to look effortlessly composed, like he belongs to some cooler, sharper world I haven't been invited into.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
Then he tilts his head slightly, looking down at my sketch. "You're good," he says, his voice low, almost casual.
It is the first time I have ever heard his voice. Low, steady, composed, serious. Kinda intimidating, but weird that I am not uncomfortable. This is our first interaction. I'll mark it on mental note.
I blink, caught off guard. Suddenly my throat feels like a desert. "Uhm ... thanks."
He shifts, glancing around at the other empty tables like he's debating something inside his head. Then he jerks his chin toward the seat across from me. "Mind if I sit?"
For a split second, panic claws up my spine—what the hell is happening?—but I manage a nod. "Sure."
Theo drops into the chair with a kind of graceful laziness, setting his book on the table. I catch a glimpse of the title—something philosophical—and suppress the urge to snort. Of course he reads stuff like that. I feel like I'm being too judgey right now.
"What are you working on?" he asks, nodding toward my sketchbook.
I shrug, trying to seem casual. "Character designs. For a project."
He leans forward a little, elbows resting on the round table, studying my messy sketch with an expression I can't quite read. Not that I'm sure I can figure him out. "Looks intense."
"I must say, kinda. I'm not a fan of drawing people in this level of detail," I say. Do I sound too cocky because I've been answering him without asking back? I decided to add, "What about you? Reading for fun?"
Theo huffs a quiet snort—more of a breath, literally. "Class presentation. It's boring."
I find myself smiling automatically. "You don't seem like someone who finds reading boring."
He lifts an eyebrow, almost amused. "And you don't seem like someone who gets lost in clubs."
A short silence fills the absence of our chatting. I try to distract myself by continuing my sketch, somehow feeling too exposed under his gaze.
So, he was there. Saw me. Watched me. Oh, wait. I stop my pencil's movement on the sketchbook. It means Theo saw me with Felix. Why does that idea bother me? It's nobody's business. Nor Theo's, nor mine.
Then, quietly, Theo speaks again. "You looked ... different that night."
I glance up, and meet his sharp eyes. "Different how?"
He's watching me carefully now, his dark eyes steady and unreadable as always. "Vulnerable."
How could a word have so much power? It feels like a bomb that just dropped from the sky. should be offended. Or embarrassed. Instead, I just feel strangely seen. Like, is this how it feels when someone pays attention to the most detailed things of you?
I shrug, forcing a light chuckle to ease my own nervousness. "Well, lucky for me that Felix got my back, I guess?"
Theo's expression tightens almost imperceptibly. He looks away, fingers tapping on the table. "You should be careful around him," he says finally.
The warning in his tone is clear, even if his words are vague. I tilt my head, curious despite myself. "Why?"
He hesitates, jaw working like he's weighing how much to say. "Not everyone who smiles at you," he says quietly, "has good intentions."
There's something raw in his voice, something that makes my throat tighten more than before. He's not saying it to scare me. He's saying it because he means it. But why? Why did he say that?
Before I can think of what to say—before I can even catch my breath—Julia's voice cuts through the moment like a blade. She unusually comes earlier than she promised, but thank God she does.
"There you are!" she calls, trotting up with a grin and two iced coffees in her hands. "I thought you already left, you traitor!"
Theo leans back slightly, the intensity between us dissipating like mist. I snap my sketchbook shut and stand up, the spell broken.
"I wouldn't," I say, managing a smile at Julia as I sling my yellow bag over my shoulder.
She thrusts a coffee—caramel macchiato, my favorite one—into my hands. Julia glances at Theo who still sitting and blinks twice. Before she even opens her mouth, I quickly push her to walk. "Let's go home."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Theo watching me, silent. "See you around," he says quietly, sounds like a promise to me.
I nod, struggling to swallow around the sudden tightness in my throat. What a weird first interaction. We didn't even introduce our names. We just talked with a few words.
Julia grabs my hand and pulls me out of the cafe. I don't even risk looking back—I can already feel the weight of his gaze burning into my back, sharp and intense enough to leave a mark.
And for the first time in a long time, I wonder—really wonder—what it would be like to let someone close again. Someone who doesn't just save you when you're vulnerable. Someone who sees it ... and stays anyway.