...The Shadows We Keep...

Williams had always been comfortable in the background.

It wasn’t that he was antisocial. Far from it. He had his friends, his teammates, his circles. But when it came to being noticed, to really being seen, he preferred the quieter spaces. The shadows. There was something about being invisible in plain sight that made him feel... safe. He didn’t have to explain himself, didn’t have to share anything. The silence was enough.

But sometimes, even in the shadows, you couldn’t help but notice certain things.

Tessa was one of those things.

She wasn’t the kind of girl you could miss if you tried. She didn’t belong to the crowd, never quite fit into any of the neat little boxes people seemed to love putting others into. She was always alone. Always in the corner. She had an aura of quietness, a stillness that stood out like a beacon in the noise of the campus. She walked through the hallways with purpose, but never rushed. Her gaze was often distant, lost in something invisible only to her.

Williams had seen her around, of course. Everyone had. She wasn’t famous, but she wasn’t exactly invisible either. She had a quiet kind of presence, something that demanded attention without saying a word.

But Williams wasn’t interested in her the way others were. He didn’t care about who she talked to or where she went. It wasn’t the surface level things that intrigued him. No. He was interested in something else—the way she seemed to exist in a world of her own.

He watched her, just as he watched the others. But with her, there was something different. There was a pull. A strange gravity that kept him coming back, even when he told himself it was unnecessary.

He’d seen her from across the courtyard once or twice, standing alone by the large oak tree, her hands in her pockets, her face expressionless as the world rushed around her. Williams could never pinpoint the exact moment he started watching her. It just... happened.

And so he watched.

Every day, like clockwork, he found himself in the same spot: the far corner of the gym, the back row of the library, the seat at the coffee shop where she liked to sit by the window. He didn’t approach her, didn’t say a word. He just observed. There was something almost peaceful about it. And in a way, it gave him a sense of connection—a quiet, invisible link between them.

And sometimes, he left something behind.

A bookmark. It was simple. Nothing fancy. Just a thin piece of paper with a design that matched the pages of her books. He never saw her take it, but he knew she did. He wasn’t sure if she ever noticed, but that didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that he was there, watching from a distance, staying out of her world while silently wishing to be a part of it.

Tessa had no idea who he was.

She couldn’t have. He was just another face among the many, blending into the background the same way she did. And that was fine. She had always been the type to keep to herself, never the center of attention. She wasn’t the type to be noticed in a crowd. Maybe that was why Williams never dared to speak to her.

Besides, there was something comfortable about being a spectator. Something safe about watching her from the corner of his eye, observing how she carried herself. She was like a character in a story he couldn’t quite read, a mystery unfolding right before him that he didn’t have to solve.

Today, like every other day, he saw her again.

She was in the library, sitting at the same table she always sat at, the one by the window where the light barely touched her. He couldn’t help but notice how her fingers traced the edges of the pages, her face soft as she flipped through another book, lost in a world of her own making.

He wondered if she ever felt it—the weight of someone watching her. Did she know?

But he wasn’t ready for her to see him yet. Not completely.

He left the bookmark again.

This time, he made sure it was nestled perfectly between the pages of a book she had borrowed earlier that week. He didn’t rush, didn’t let his heart race as he had in the past. He was calm, precise. He had done this a hundred times.

And yet, when he stepped back to watch her take the book from the shelf later, he couldn’t help but feel that strange flutter of anticipation in his chest.

...🖤...

...Hushed Pages...

The library was quieter than usual that day.

Late afternoon light spilled through the high arched windows, falling in soft patterns across the stone floor. Dust floated in the golden air, dancing like tiny spirits above the heads of students hunched over desks, necks bent, eyes heavy with fatigue.

Williams sat in his usual seat—third row from the back, behind a pillar. Not too close, not too far. Just close enough to see her.

Tessa was already there.

She didn’t notice him. She never did.

Her headphones were in, wires trailing into the collar of her jacket. One hand supported her chin, the other turned the page of a thick book that looked older than the table she sat at. She moved like time didn’t matter. As if the world outside the page didn’t exist. That’s what always struck him the most—her stillness. It wasn’t laziness or boredom. It was intentional. She lived inside herself. Fully.

He watched as her foot tapped quietly beneath the table, just once. Then again. There was music in her ears, he knew that. But he wondered what kind. What kind of rhythm made her shoulders sway like that, so subtly it was almost imperceptible?

He imagined it was something dark. Something slow and pulsing, something that stirred deeper than the surface. Not pop. Not something everyone else liked. Tessa didn’t look like someone who listened to anything predictable.

Today, he didn’t bring a bookmark. He wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was because she looked different. Not in any dramatic way—she wore her same loose black hoodie, same worn sneakers with blue laces. But something in her face looked heavier. Like whatever story she was reading was bleeding into her, leaving marks behind.

Williams leaned back, letting the shadows cover more of his face.

He didn’t always think of himself as a watcher. At least, not in the beginning. But lately, he’d grown used to the stillness of observation. To being near her but never with her. It made him feel both safe and on the verge of madness.

It wasn’t obsession, not really.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

She closed the book.

Her fingers lingered on the final page. Not moving. As if saying goodbye to something she didn’t want to let go of.

Then slowly, she stood. Adjusted her hoodie. Slipped the book into her bag.

Williams watched her walk past the table, headphones still in, gaze forward. She didn’t look at him.

But as she passed, she reached into her bag. Pulled out a small rectangle of paper—one of the bookmarks he’d left weeks ago. He saw her fingers trace the edge of it. A pause. Then she slipped it between the pages of the book she’d just taken.

His chest tightened.

She remembered.

Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was a coincidence. But something about the way she handled it—carefully, as if it mattered—made him feel... seen. Even if she didn’t know he was there.

He stood after she left. Walked over to where she’d been sitting. Her scent lingered—a faint blend of old paper and something floral, barely noticeable, like a memory just out of reach.

On the chair, something white.

A folded piece of paper.

He stared at it. Looked around. No one noticed.

He picked it up.

It wasn’t addressed to anyone. No name. Just a single sentence scrawled in small, sharp handwriting:

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not alone, even when I am.”

His breath caught.

It couldn’t be for him. Could it?

Or had she left it for herself—some private thought meant to disappear into the air?

Either way, the words curled around his mind like smoke.

He folded the paper again and slipped it into his pocket.

That night, in the dim light of his room, he lay awake staring at the ceiling, her voice whispering through his imagination, even though he had never heard it.

And for the first time since this began, he wondered—

Did she feel him too?

...🖤...

...Quiet Patterns...

There was something different in the air.

The next few days passed like pages fluttering in the wind—quick, soundless, and strangely heavy. Williams kept his usual distance. He still watched her, still sat in his regular seat. But something had shifted between them, even if it hadn’t surfaced on the outside.

It was in the way she paused longer when she passed the bookshelves. The way her gaze lingered on the rows, unfocused—as if searching for something, or someone. The folded note was still in his pocket. He’d read it at least a hundred times.

"Sometimes I feel like I’m not alone, even when I am."

It looped through his thoughts during practice, at night, in the quiet moments between classes. A single sentence that felt like it had been peeled from his own ribs. Was it a coincidence? Or was it something else? Something she had left on purpose.

He hadn’t left another bookmark since. Maybe he didn’t want to ruin whatever fragile line had just begun to thread between them. Maybe he wanted to see if she would make a move now.

But Tessa didn’t move the way other people did.

She flowed.

Rain came down on Thursday. Heavy, cold, and soaking into everything. Campus was a maze of umbrellas and wet footprints. Williams skipped practice. The world outside felt muted, and he couldn’t bring himself to pretend to be present.

He found her again in the far wing of the library. She was alone, as always, headphones in, eyes on the book resting in her lap. The rain tapped against the window beside her like fingers drumming an anxious rhythm.

He stood hidden between the stacks, watching her. She looked tired. Or maybe she was just relaxed in a way he rarely saw. Her posture had softened, her shoulders rounded forward, her lips slightly parted in thought.

He wanted to know what she was reading.

More than that, he wanted to know how it made her feel.

Was it pulling her in? Hurting her? Healing her?

He stepped back, deeper into the aisle. If he stayed too long, he’d be noticed. He’d made that mistake once—too many seconds staring, too close to her line of vision.

But then she did something she had never done before.

She looked up.

Right toward him.

Not past him. Not through him.

At him.

Williams froze. His breath caught like a stone in his throat. Her eyes—dark, distant—didn’t widen. They didn’t blink in surprise or flinch. She simply held his gaze. Still. Calm.

He didn’t move.

He couldn’t tell how long they stood like that—two people on opposite sides of an invisible wall. But then, just as slowly as she had looked up, Tessa turned her attention back to her book.

No expression. No smile. No frown. Just a return to stillness.

But Williams felt like the floor had shifted beneath him.

She’d seen him.

And she let it happen.

That night, the dream came again.

He was back in that small, empty studio—the one on the third floor, where the mirrors were cracked at the edges and the floorboards creaked beneath careful feet.

She was there, dancing.

Not facing him. Not acknowledging him. Just moving.

Her hair was damp with sweat. Her hoodie was off, a dark tank top clinging to the lines of her back. She moved slowly, like water unraveling, like smoke trailing upward. Music played—something low, something aching. He couldn’t name the melody. Only feel it in his chest.

He stepped forward, one silent foot at a time. She didn’t stop. Didn’t turn.

But then—her head tilted slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him in the mirror.

Her lips parted.

Her breath caught.

And her body stilled.

He reached for her.

And woke up.

Friday passed in a blur of rain and grey clouds. He didn't see her. Not in the library. Not on the walkway she always took between classes. Not at the coffee shop by the gym. The absence sank heavy in his gut. It was absurd, maybe, but real.

By evening, his nerves were taut with restlessness. He walked through the campus twice, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, hoodie pulled low over his face. The rain had stopped, but the cold hung in the air like a secret waiting to be told.

Finally, he ended up at the studio.

The one she sometimes used.

The building was nearly empty. Lights were dim. The hall echoed faintly with the thud of shoes on linoleum and the far-off buzz of vending machines.

He reached the third floor. Pushed the door open.

And she was there.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look surprised. As if she’d been waiting.

She stood at the center of the room, back to him, her body half-wrapped in the reflection of the mirrors. Her headphones were around her neck. A speaker hummed quietly on the floor.

Williams didn’t speak.

Neither did she.

He leaned against the wall. Slowly slid down to sit on the floor.

She turned on the music.

Low. Twisting. A sound that felt like being alone in the dark.

And then she moved.

It was the first time he’d seen her dance up close. Really seen it.

She wasn’t polished. She wasn’t perfect.

But she felt everything.

Her body twisted with a kind of rage and release, her feet hitting the ground hard, her arms slicing through the air with precision that wasn’t taught but born.. She moved like the music was in her blood.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

She didn’t look at him once.

But when the music stopped, and the room fell quiet, she turned.

Their eyes locked.

Her face was flushed, chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to her neck. But she didn’t speak.

And neither did he.

Instead, she walked across the floor.

Closer.

Closer.

Until she stood in front of him.

Still no words.

She crouched, tilted her head slightly, studying him with that same unreadable expression she always wore. But now, it felt intentional. A test.

Then—finally—she said something.

Quiet. Barely above a whisper.

“Why do you always watch me?”

He couldn’t answer. His throat had dried up, his body frozen.

She leaned closer.

Eyes burning into him.

“Are you scared of me?”

He shook his head, slowly.

She nodded once, as if that was the answer she expected. Then she stood again.

And walked away.

Leaving him on the floor, heart thundering.

The door closed behind her.

That night, he lay awake.

And for the first time...

He knew she’d been watching him too.

...🖤...