CHAPTER 3 — The Walls Between Us

The library was too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the type that crawled under your skin — the kind where the ticking clock sounded like thunder. Aira sat by the window, pretending to read, but her eyes hadn’t moved past the same line for the last fifteen minutes.

She could still feel his touch.

Riyan’s hand had brushed hers yesterday, just once — barely even skin on skin — but it was enough to keep her awake all night. And now, every shadow that flickered outside the window felt like it carried his silhouette.

“Looking for me?”

His voice sliced through the silence like a slow burn. Aira’s heart jumped — not just from surprise, but from the low rasp in his voice, the cocky smirk that followed.

Riyan leaned against the wall near the bookshelf, dressed in all black like he was born for the dark. The bad boy with a brain. Deadly combo.

Aira closed her book, slow and deliberate.

“I wasn’t,” she lied.

“Shame.” His smirk deepened. “Because I was looking for you.”

He walked over, smooth and lazy, like he had all the time in the world. But his eyes — they held storms. A kind of desperation masked with arrogance. And when he sat across from her, she forgot how to breathe.

“You weren’t in class,” he said.

“I needed air,” she replied.

“I’m air now?” he asked, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “Because if you needed me, you should’ve just said so.”

Aira’s cheeks flamed. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” His eyes glinted. “You’re the one who keeps showing up in my dreams.”

That made her pause. The Riyan she knew didn’t say things like that. Not unless… he meant it.

But before she could ask, a knock on the glass door interrupted the moment. It was Professor Tharan, their Literature teacher — and the one person who’d ruin them if he ever found out about this… whatever this was.

“You two again?” Tharan raised a brow, suspicion dripping from every word. “Aira, your father trusts this institution. You should too.”

Aira stiffened. Riyan’s jaw clenched.

The weight of that single sentence filled the room. Everyone knew — her father was a board member. A political figure. He didn’t want his daughter near anyone like Riyan. Especially not him.

After the professor left, silence returned. Heavier this time.

“You should go,” Aira said softly. “Before someone else sees.”

But Riyan didn’t move. His voice was barely a whisper now. “I don’t care who sees. Do you?”

She did. That was the problem.

Her eyes found his again. Torn between danger and desire. She could lie, but not to herself. Not anymore.

He reached out — slow, giving her time to pull away. She didn’t. His fingers brushed hers, then locked.

Warm. Familiar. Wrong.

“I know this is a bad idea,” she whispered.

“Same,” he said. “Still want it.”

“Me too.”

His lips barely touched hers — not a kiss, not yet. Just a breath between them. The kind of closeness that burned hotter than touch. She could feel his heart hammering through his grip.

But just as her eyes fluttered shut, her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

One message.

> “If you value his life, stop meeting him.”

Her breath caught.

He noticed.

“What is it?” he asked.

She tried to hide the screen, but he was faster. Snatched it, read the message, and went still.

“Who the hell is this?” he asked sharply.

Aira shook her head. “I—I don’t know. Maybe some sick joke.”

But Riyan’s face darkened. Not fear. Rage. Protective rage.

“You’re not dropping this, are you?” she asked quietly.