Ep:4

...When the Mirror Moves...

Rain always seemed to return when silence became too loud.

Saturday brought with it a storm—angry clouds curled over the campus sky like fists, and thunder rolled in the distance, low and deep. The wind made everything feel like it was holding its breath.

Williams didn’t go to the gym.

Didn’t go to the court.

He stayed in bed longer than usual, one arm thrown across his face, heart still chasing the ghost of her voice.

“Why do you always watch me?”

The words played over and over. But it wasn’t what she said—it was how she said it. Not accusing. Not angry. Curious, maybe. And unafraid.

That made it worse.

He wasn’t used to being seen. Not like that.

And the way she looked at him before she walked away… that stayed.

By evening, he was outside again. The storm had paused, but the clouds hadn’t moved. A pale blue glow slipped beneath the horizon, washing the streets in a ghostly haze.

He didn’t mean to end up at the studio again. But when he passed the building, his eyes lifted toward the third floor window out of instinct.

The light was on.

He told himself not to go in.

He went in anyway.

The hallway felt different tonight. Not quieter—he was used to silence. But charged. Like static just before a spark. As he climbed the stairs, he could hear the muffled pulse of music. A slow, haunting beat that sounded more like a heartbeat than a song.

He pushed the door open.

She was there.

Again.

But this time… she wasn’t alone.

A guy stood across from her. Shorter than Williams. Too confident. He held her wrist loosely, his voice low as he leaned in too close.

Williams didn’t move, not yet. His chest tightened, slow and sour.

Tessa didn’t look at him. Her face was unreadable—same as always—but her eyes weren’t relaxed. They were watching the guy’s hand.

Williams stepped into the room.

The music cut.

The guy turned, looking mildly annoyed. “You lost, man?”

Tessa still hadn’t moved. Her eyes flicked toward Williams for the briefest second.

Then—

“I’m not interested, Eli,” she said.

Her voice was calm. Too calm.

The guy—Eli—shrugged, smirked, and let go of her wrist. “Just asking, Tess. No need to get cold.” He passed by Williams on the way out, pausing just long enough to add, “Guess she’s already got company.”

The door slammed behind him.

Silence returned.

Only the rain tapping again on the windows.

Williams stared at her. She looked back this time.

Then slowly—like pulling thread from a wound—she said, “He keeps showing up.”

Williams nodded once. He didn’t trust his voice.

She walked to the speaker. Turned the volume down. Not off.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” she said, not looking at him now.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

She paused.

Then—almost too softly—“I didn’t say that.”

He stayed by the door, not crossing the room. Not yet.

“Why haven’t you said anything before?” she asked. Her voice was sharper now. Not angry, but sharper. Like testing a blade’s edge.

He hesitated. “Because I didn’t know what I’d say.”

Tessa stepped toward him.

Not much. Just enough.

“You’ve been following me.”

Not a question.

Williams met her gaze. “Yeah.”

A pause. No denial. No excuse.

Something shifted in her eyes. The tension didn’t leave—but it changed shape.

“You’re not the only one,” she said, her voice barely above the hum of the music.

He blinked. “What?”

She looked down. “People think because I keep to myself, they can project whatever they want onto me. Fantasy. Mystery. A thing they can collect.”

“I’m not—” He stopped. “That’s not what this is.”

“I know.”

Her voice was steady. And then she looked up at him again, and her eyes weren’t distant anymore.

“They watch. But you… you stay quiet.”

She took a step closer. He could hear her breathing now.

“Why bookmarks?” she asked.

He gave a dry laugh under his breath. “Because I didn’t know how to start a conversation. But I wanted you to notice.”

She tilted her head slightly. Her mouth twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I noticed.”

A pause.

A quiet that rang louder than thunder.

Then she crossed the last bit of space between them, slowly—like giving him time to stop her.

He didn’t.

She stood inches away now. Her eyes didn’t waver. And when she spoke again, her voice dropped lower, darker.

“What are you really thinking when you watch me?”

His breath caught.

The words came out quiet, but honest. “That I want to know what it feels like to touch something real.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then—without warning—she reached up, took his face in her hands, and kissed him.

Not softly.

Not gently.

Her mouth crashed into his like she’d been holding something back for too long, and it had finally broken.

He staggered back, breath stolen. But her hands didn’t move. Her fingers threaded into his hair, anchoring him in place.

He kissed her back.

God, he kissed her like he’d been starved for it.

Like she was something he’d dreamed of every night and finally found in flesh.

It wasn’t sweet.

It wasn’t safe.

It was something darker.

Something desperate.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathing hard, she didn’t look away.

Neither did he.

And when she spoke again, her voice was steady. Final.

“Don’t stop watching me."

...🖤...

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