Chapter 5 The weight of his presence

Racheal didn't expect the weekend to feel this strangely heavy. It wasn't bad just full. Full of thoughts she couldn't shake, full of a presence she pretended not to feel. Marcus had only been in her life for a few weeks, but somehow he was already taking up space he didn't ask permission for.

Monday morning came too quickly. She walked into the studio early, hoping to breathe before the day swallowed her. But the moment she stepped onto the polished floors, she felt it someone was already there.

Marcus.

He stood near the front desk, sleeves rolled up, hair still slightly damp like he'd just stepped out of the shower. He wasn't talking, just reading something on his phone, but his entire presence filled the room effortlessly.

Racheal paused. Why is he here so early? She wasn't ready. Not mentally, not emotionally, and definitely not conversationally.

He looked up the moment she tried to sneak past.

"You're early," he said, voice low but warm.

"I could say the same about you," she replied. "Do CEOs not sleep?"

He slipped his hands into his pockets, a faint smile touching his mouth. "I had something to check on here."

She frowned. "At 7 a.m.?"

"Yes," he said simply, eyes never leaving her. "You."

Her breath stilled.

He didn't rush to explain, didn't soften the words he just let them hang in the air between them, heavy enough to make her pulse trip.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" he asked.

"No," she blurted. Then, realizing how loud that sounded, she cleared her throat. "I mean... I have a class in a few minutes."

"You have eight," he said, checking the clock behind her. "I counted."

The worst part was he wasn't wrong.

He walked closer, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted to. She didn't.

"I heard you took a ride home Friday," he said. "Late."

Of course. Of course someone told him. Or he found out himself, which was even more on-brand for him.

"It was just a ride," she said carefully. "You don't need to worry."

He looked at her like she was missing the point.

"Racheal, I worry because I want to know you're safe. Not because I expect anything from you."

And that right there was the problem.

He wasn't asking for anything. He was just there... steady, consistent, impossible to ignore.

Before she could form an answer, a group of early students arrived, the studio filling with chatter and movement. She turned toward the room, grateful for the escape.

But Marcus wasn't finished.

As she walked away, he said quietly, "We're not done talking."

She didn't turn around, but she felt every word settle at the base of her spine.

The day passed in a haze. Her classes were fine, the students lively, the music familiar but her mind kept drifting to him. To his voice. To the weight behind his concern. To the question she didn't want to ask herself:

What exactly was he becoming to her?

Later that afternoon, as she stepped outside for a moment of air, she heard someone call her name.

"Racheal."

She turned-and there he was again, leaning against his car like he had all the time in the world.

"Don't run this time," he said gently. "Just... talk to me."

And despite every stubborn instinct she had, she walked toward him.

She didn't know where this was heading. But something about him,about the way he looked at her like she mattered made her want to find out.

Racheal stopped a few steps from him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him but far enough to pretend she still had control of the moment.

"Alright," she said softly. "I'm here. Talk."

Marcus exhaled like he'd been holding that breath for days. He pushed off the car and stood fully, his height suddenly feeling more intimidating out here in the open air. But his expression-steady, almost careful softened the edge.

"I need you to understand something," he began. "I'm not trying to interfere in your life. I'm not trying to... own your decisions."

"That's good," she murmured, folding her arms.

"But," he continued, stepping just slightly closer, "I can't pretend I don't care about you. And I'm not going to act like it doesn't matter to me when you leave late at night or disappear without saying anything."

Her throat tightened. "We barely know each other."

He tilted his head, eyes narrowed slightly. "I know enough to care. You know enough to notice."

She looked away. Because he was right. She did notice. She noticed everything. The way his voice sounded when he was tired. The way he watched her with attention no one else gave her. The way being around him felt like a door opening ,she wasn't sure she was ready to walk through.

"Marcus..." she started, unsure of what would follow.

He didn't touch her. He didn't rush her. He just waited giving her space but not letting her hide behind silence.

"You don't have to feel the same," he said quietly. "But I'm not going to pretend I don't."

That honesty-simple and unpolished hit harder than anything else he could have said.

"Why me?" she finally whispered. "You could have anyone."

"Maybe," he said. "But I don't want anyone. I want you."

Her heart stumbled.

Before she could respond, the studio door opened behind her and someone called her name, pulling her back into reality. The moment broke, but the weight of it didn't.

"I should get back inside," she said, voice barely steady.

He nodded once. "I'll be here when you're done."

She hesitated. "You really don't have to wait."

"I know." His eyes softened. "But I want to."

She didn't trust herself to speak again, so she turned and walked back in. Her hands trembled slightly. Her thoughts felt too loud. And her pulse God, her pulse wouldn't calm down.

Because this wasn't casual.

This wasn't harmless.

This wasn't something she could pretend away later.

This was Marcus.

And he was waiting for her.