Chapter eight : Nyla

He looked off today. He was constantly checking his phone, never once meeting my eyes.

Did I do something wrong?

The café was quiet—too quiet.

Even the hum of the espresso machine felt tired.

The sky outside was painted in thick, gloomy gray, like it was seconds away from breaking down.

Just like me.

I had touched him earlier this morning—barely—and that electric shock was still sitting inside my skin, pulsing now and then to remind me what I shouldn't be feeling.

And yet, I blushed every single time.

"I'm done," Jessica proclaimed, breaking the stillness.

"That's good. What about you?"

His voice was distant. He still didn’t look at me.

"I can't do this. I'm sorry."

My voice was small—ashamed. I hated how fragile I sounded.

And then, for the first time since we sat down, he looked at me.

Really looked. His gaze was sharp, deep, almost painful to hold.

I melted.

Quickly, he turned away.

"Jessica, you did a great job today."

His voice dropped into a softness I hadn't heard in a while.

"I'm not giving you any homework today. You can go home."

She was about to clap her hands but paused midway when he completed his sentence.

Silence curled around us like fog.

Jessica glanced between the two of us before speaking.

"Home? This early?"

"Yeah," he replied, barely above a whisper. "It looks like it’ll rain soon. You should head home."

She looked confused, but without another word, she packed her books. Flashing a quick glance at me, she thanked Mr. Seth and left.

The moment the door closed behind her, the air changed.

Some kind of tension snuck in between us, thick and quiet.

Our eyes locked—brief, intense, and loaded.

Something was off. Something was brewing.

He stood up slowly, walked over, and sat beside me.

Too close.

My heart skipped a beat.

I curled my fingers around the edge of my sweater, trying to act normal.

But then he leaned in—toward my notebook—and started checking my answer.

His scent filled my lungs.

That clean, warm smell that somehow made me feel dizzy.

The heat from his body kissed my skin, and it was almost unbearable.

"Here," he said, his voice low and close. "You have to apply the BODMAS, or else it’ll be messed up. Are you listening?"

"Of course I am," I choked out, my voice betraying me.

"Then what was I saying?"

His gaze sharpened.

My mouth parted but nothing came out.

"Now listen carefully."

He snapped gently—not harsh, but firm.

He continued explaining, his head shifting as he spoke, hair bouncing slightly with each movement. I stared.

His eyes—dark, unreadable—pulled me in without permission.

I wanted to trail my fingers along his jaw, memorize the shape of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips. Those lips.They looked dangerously edible.Too beautiful to be real.

"Can you follow?"

"Yes," I lied, even though my brain had processed absolutely nothing he said.

"I'm going to give you a problem. Find the solution."

He wrote something in my notebook, but I barely glanced at it.

I struggled, since I was studying his face instead of maths. He stared at me and it was sure that he knew that i never actually paid attention.

The last word he scribbled onto his notebook was heavier than the rest—like he was done pretending to focus. I shut my book slowly, watching him out of the corner of my eye. His brows were furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line. He hadn't spoken in the last fifteen minutes as i struggled with the problem.

It was stupid.

I tucked my hair behind my ears and stood up, stretching just to shake off the strange tension lingering between us. “Guess that’s it, right?”

He didn’t answer. Just nodded and walked to the window, his movements sharp, calculated, like he was trying too hard to act unaffected.

The sound of rain tapping against the glass grew louder, as if it had been waiting for us to stop pretending. We were the only people in the cafe other than the workers.I sighed and slung my bag over my shoulder. “Great. It’s pouring.”

He didn’t even look back. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“What? No, you really don’t have to—”

“I said I’ll walk you,” he repeated, voice lower. Not harsh. Just… firm. Like it wasn’t an offer.

I stared at him. His back was still turned, hands in his pockets. He's acting cold. Like kindness scared him.

He reached for his hoodie, paused for a second, then without turning around, tossed it to me. It hit me in the face.

“Wear that,” he muttered. “You’ll catch a cold in that thin thing.”

I blinked, holding the hoodie close. The fabric was soft. Warm. His scent clung to it—coffee, rain, something faintly nostalgic that made my chest ache for no reason.

“You’re weird,” I murmured, slipping it over my head.

“you said something?”

I'm sure he heard me, he's simply acting But his voice… it wasn’t teasing. It was softer. Like maybe, he didn’t mind hearing me.

Outside, the sky was crying in sheets.He held his jacket over both our heads like an umbrella, his arm brushing against mine every now and then. Every time it did, I felt it. And I swear... he did too.

His steps were steady, but his grip on the jacket kept shifting—like he was restless. Like he was feeling too much but didn't know where to put it.

I glanced up at him once. His jaw was clenched. His eyes weren’t on the road. They were somewhere else.

And yet—he didn’t let a single drop fall on me.

My hands were folded in my lap, knuckles white from gripping them too tightly. I could feel the warmth of his presence beside me, even though he wasn’t touching me. Not even close. But somehow, it felt like he was everywhere.

My pulse wouldn’t slow down.

I snuck a glance at him. His hands on the wheel—calm, controlled, like always. His jaw set, eyes fixed on the road, lashes still damp from the rain. The way his fingers flexed when he shifted gears made my stomach twist for reasons I couldn’t explain.

I tried to breathe quietly, but my chest felt tight.

I could still feel it—the memory of brushing against him earlier. It wasn’t even intentional. A simple touch. But it had lit something inside me I couldn’t turn off.

What was worse? He was acting like nothing happened. Like I wasn’t sitting here seconds from combusting.

The scent of his cologne—earthy, clean—made my head spin. I stared out the window, trying to cool the heat crawling up my neck. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

And the worst part? I didn’t want the ride to end. Even if it meant sitting in this storm of silence, burning slowly beside him.

We reached home, the soft yellow glow from the porch light brushing against my face, warm and gentle—unlike the storm brewing inside me.

He didn’t say anything.

Neither did I.

But I could feel it—the air between us crackling with something I couldn’t name.

He looked at me, just briefly. And in that moment, his eyes softened, just for a split second. Like he was searching for something in my face… or trying not to.

I think I forgot how to breathe.

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words didn’t come.

So I just stood there, lips parted, rain dampening the edge of my scarf, heart thudding way too loud in my chest.

He looked away.

“Thanks,” I finally whispered, barely louder than the rain.

He didn’t respond right away. Just nodded, his jaw tightening like he was holding something back.

“Go in before you get drenched,” he said, eyes not meeting mine.

But I didn’t move.

I stood there. Waiting. Hoping for something more. A glance. A word. Maybe just the truth behind his silence.

But it never came.

And then he drove away into the dark street.

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