HIS SCARS, HER STORY

A FAMILIAR STRANGER

The lecture hall smelled faintly of ink and old paper, the hum of quiet conversations echoing off the high ceilings. Evanna Melrose sat exactly where she always did—fourth row from the back, aisle seat. Close enough to hear, far enough to be invisible.

Her notebook lay open on the desk, pen poised between her fingers, but she wasn’t writing.

Not yet.

She was early. She was always early.

Another page of neat handwriting, another step closer to the life she’d promised herself.

No distractions.

No mistakes.

Not this time.

The door creaked open at the front of the hall. She didn’t look up.

More students shuffled in, filling rows with an easy buzz of energy. Someone laughed, sharp and carefree, and something in the sound tugged at her.

It was familiar in a way that made her stomach twist.

The footsteps came next. Heavy. Unhurried.

Confident.

She told herself not to look.

But her body betrayed her, gaze flicking toward the aisle.

And there he was.

Adrian Sinclair.

For a second, everything froze.

He was older. Broader. The boy she remembered had sharp edges, but this man was carved from something rougher, something raw. Black hair fell messily over his forehead, just long enough to brush his lashes. His jaw was sharper now, his mouth still that same infuriating smirk that made hearts race and heads ache.

But it was his eyes that hit her hardest.

Storm-gray, darkened by time.

Haunted.

Dangerous.

And for the briefest moment, unguarded.

He saw her.

She snapped her gaze back to her notebook as if the ink could save her.

Footsteps again. Closer.

And then a shadow fell over the seat beside her.

“Is this taken?”

His voice was deeper now. Rough, like smoke and midnight.

Her throat tightened. “Plenty of other seats.”

But he was already lowering himself into the chair next to hers, sprawling like he belonged there.

Like he’d never left.

“Yeah,” he said casually. “But none of them are next to you.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

She stared down at her notes, willing herself to focus on the words.

He didn’t say anything else for a long moment. Just sat there, tapping his pen lightly against the desk.

But she could feel him watching her.

Like he always had.

Like no time had passed.

“Evanna.”

He said her name like it was something fragile. Something dangerous.

And she hated the way her heart stumbled over it.

She inhaled slowly. “Adrian.”

His name tasted like old wounds and unfinished stories.

“You look…”

He trailed off, as if searching for the right word.

“Different.”

She glanced at him then, just once.

“So do you.”

But they both knew he’d changed more.

She’d built walls.

He’d become one.

And now they were sitting side by side, again.

And this time, there was no running away.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and familiar, threading through her chest like it still belonged there.

“Miss me?”

His voice was quiet, almost lazy, but she knew better. It was a challenge. A dare.

Evanna didn’t look at him.

“No.”

The word was sharp, practiced.

But her pen trembled slightly between her fingers, and she knew he saw it.

He always noticed things like that.

Adrian leaned back in his seat, arms folding behind his head in that careless way that used to make half their class sigh under their breath.

“Liar,” he murmured.

She clenched her jaw and forced her eyes to the front of the room. The professor’s voice started, words blurring into meaningless sound as the heat of Adrian’s presence settled beside her like a second skin.

Ten minutes in, he hadn’t moved.

But she felt him.

And when his knee accidentally—or not—bumped against hers under the table, she snapped her notebook shut.

“After class,” she hissed under her breath, not daring to look at him.

“What?” His tone was teasing, but there was something raw beneath it.

“We’ll talk after class,” she said, fingers gripping the edge of the desk like it was the only thing holding her together.

A pause.

Then—

“Thought you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“I don’t,” she whispered. “But I can’t focus with you staring at me.”

He exhaled a low laugh.

“You were always so honest.”

“You were always so exhausting.”

Another laugh, this time softer.

“Missed that too.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, willing the ache in her chest to dull.

This was supposed to be a clean slate.

No distractions.

And yet here he was, Adrian Sinclair, wrecking her carefully ordered life like he always did—just by existing.

After Class:

When the lecture finally ended, Evanna was already packing her things with quick, practiced movements. She could feel Adrian watching her.

He waited until she stood before he rose too, matching her pace as she made for the door.

“Where?” he asked, casual as if this was normal.

She didn’t answer at first. Her feet carried her out of the building, down the steps, toward the quiet path behind the science block. Less people. Less noise. Less chance of anyone seeing them.

Once they reached the old bench half-hidden by ivy, she stopped.

He raised a brow.

“Romantic,” he drawled.

“Shut up,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “Why are you here?”

For a moment, he said nothing.

The wind picked up, ruffling his dark hair. His hands slid into his pockets, but his eyes—those eyes—never left hers.

“Same reason you are,” he said finally. “Trying to figure out who I am now.”

She swallowed hard. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Neither did I.”

The words hung between them, heavier than either of them expected.

“But you’re here anyway,” she said quietly.

“So are you.”