Chapter 3 Rewriting Myself

Elara had once read that it took 66 days to form a new habit.

That meant 66 days of choosing herself.

66 days of not checking old texts.

66 days of not searching for his name in crowded places.

66 days of pretending she didn't still feel his voice wrapped around her ribs like a vice.

Today was day one.

She tightened her grip around the coffee cup in her hands, the cardboard warm against her skin. The campus café hummed with morning energy-students huddled over textbooks, baristas shouting orders, the scent of espresso thick in the air.

This is my life now.

No versions of Elara shaped by someone else.

And yet, as she sat at the corner table, staring down at her untouched drink, she felt it again.

That itch of being watched.

Ghosts Linger in Small Ways

She shook the thought away and pulled out her notebook. A blank page. A fresh start.

The past couldn't touch her if she didn't let it.

Her pen hovered over the paper.

She hesitated.

And then, in small, deliberate strokes, she wrote:

"Who am I when no one is looking?"

It was a question she didn't have an answer to.

A chair scraped against the floor beside her, and she startled slightly.

"Should I be worried?"

She turned to see Mia dropping into the seat across from her, eyeing her half-finished coffee like it had personally offended her.

"About what?" Elara asked.

"You. Sitting here, staring at your drink like it's whispering dark secrets to you."

Elara huffed a laugh, shutting her notebook. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous," Mia muttered, stealing a sugar packet from Elara's tray and tearing it open.

Elara smirked. "I thought you had class right now."

"Skipped." Mia shrugged. "I figured my time was better spent making sure my mysterious new roommate hasn't been possessed by whatever existential crisis she's battling."

Elara rolled her eyes, but warmth curled in her chest. She hadn't realized how much she had missed the sharp-edged banter of a real friend.

"Seriously," Mia said, more gently now. "You good?"

Elara hesitated.

Should she mention the texts? The feeling of being followed?

She almost did.

But then she thought about how crazy it sounded.

A text that disappeared. A shadow that might not even be real.

So instead, she forced a smile. "I'm fine."

Mia didn't look convinced, but she let it go.

For now.

Not All Strangers Are New

By late afternoon, Elara was exhausted.

She had spent hours wandering the campus, memorizing hallways, sitting in lectures that blurred together.

And yet, every so often, she felt it.

A flicker of something just beyond her line of sight.

Like walking through a haunted house and knowing something was waiting just around the corner.

She told herself she was being paranoid.

That she had spent so long looking over her shoulder that she didn't know how to stop.

She stepped into the campus art studio, her last stop of the day. It was quiet here-easels half-covered in drying paintings, the scent of acrylics lingering in the air.

She wasn't here for a class.

She just wanted to be somewhere that didn't feel like the past was crawling up her spine.

And then-

She saw him.

The guy from the café.

He was sitting on the floor, sketchbook open, the afternoon light catching in his dark hair.

He didn't look up immediately.

He just kept drawing.

As if he had been expecting her.

Elara hesitated.

But something about him-the calm, the stillness-felt different from the chaos swirling in her head.

So she sat down.

Silence stretched between them.

And then, without looking away from his sketchbook, he spoke.

"You don't belong here."

Elara stiffened. "Excuse me?"

The guy finally looked up, his gaze steady.

"I don't mean the school." He tapped his pencil against the page. "I mean...here. Right now. You look like you're waiting for someone to pull you back."

She stared at him.

"You talk like you know me," she said carefully.

He studied her for a moment, as if considering something.

Then he flipped his sketchbook around.

Elara's breath caught.

It was a drawing of her.

Not as she looked now.

But as she used to be.

A Stranger Who Sees Too Much

Her hair was longer in the sketch, her eyes softer.

She was wearing the necklace.

The one she had thrown away.

Elara's heart pounded.

"How-"

"I told you," he said simply. "I notice things."

A chill crawled up her spine.

This was impossible.

She had never met him before yesterday.

And yet, he had drawn her as if he had seen her before.

She forced herself to breathe. "Who are you?"

The guy held her gaze.

Then, as if he had already decided something, he closed the sketchbook and leaned back.

"Aiden," he said.

Just that.

No last name. No explanation.

Elara swallowed hard.

She should have walked away.

Instead, she stayed.

And for the first time, she wondered if she was about to rewrite herself into another story she didn't understand.

The Past Tightens Its Grip

That night, as Elara lay in bed, the city humming outside her window, her phone vibrated once.

A message.

From an unknown number.

She exhaled sharply, pulse quickening.

She shouldn't look.

But she did.

Do you really think you can be someone else?

Her chest tightened.

Another message came through.

I liked you better before.

And just like the last time-

The texts vanished.

Deleted.

Like they were never there at all.

Elara sat frozen, staring at the dark screen, her heart a hammer against her ribs.

This wasn't her mind playing tricks on her.

Someone was watching. Someone who knew her. Someone who didn't want her to change.

And she knew, with a sharp, bone-deep certainty- Atlas Calloway wasn't finished with her yet.