Chapter 3 Perfect Stranger

The next day, Elena found herself dressing more slowly.

She wasn't sure what she was waiting for-maybe a reason not to see him. Maybe a reason to. She threw on a plain black tee and dark jeans, tied her hair up in a loose bun, then undid it. Twice.

By the third attempt, she gave up and left it messy.

Zenith University buzzed with life as usual-students spilling out of lecture halls, phones in their hands and egos in their pockets. Elena walked with her head down, pretending not to look for him.

But she was.

It wasn't until lunch that she spotted him, leaning against the low wall outside the art building like he was waiting for time to catch up to him. Hoodie up, rings glinting on his fingers, and the same calm expression that always felt too calculated.

Her phone buzzed just as their eyes met.

Zayne: Still pretending you're not curious?

Elena looked up from her screen. He hadn't moved, hadn't touched his phone. He just... knew.

She didn't reply.

She walked straight past him.

He didn't follow.

But she felt his stare burn into her back long after she'd turned the corner.

That evening, Ava dragged her to a small rooftop mixer hosted by the Literature Department.

"This is your kind of crowd," Ava said, leading her past strings of fairy lights and badly dressed poets. "Pretentious, artistic, and slightly depressed."

"I'm not pretending to be any of that," Elena replied.

"Exactly. That's why you belong."

She tried to relax, tried to laugh, even sipped on a red drink someone called The Sad Girl Special. But it didn't matter.

Because he showed up.

Zayne.

He didn't come with anyone. Didn't greet anyone. He just arrived-like a shadow slipping between realities. Eyes scanning, landing on her like he already knew exactly where she'd be.

He didn't walk toward her.

He stood at the far end of the roof, leaned on the railing, and lit a cigarette-slow, deliberate, intentional.

Ava noticed. "Ignore him."

"I'm not looking."

"You are."

Elena turned away. "I don't get it. He's not even trying."

"That's the thing, El. He doesn't chase. He pulls."

And he was pulling.

Without a word. Without a gesture. With just that gaze and that stillness, Zayne reeled her in like a fish who knew the hook was there-and bit anyway.

She excused herself.

Walked to the opposite side of the roof where the crowd thinned. Let the air cool her skin.

And then...

He was there.

Not beside her.

Behind her.

She felt him before he spoke.

"You ran today."

She turned slowly. He stood barely a foot behind her, arms crossed, lips curled.

"I walked."

"You avoided."

"And you watched."

Zayne stepped closer, his voice lower now. "I always watch."

She should have been afraid. But all she felt was heat in her spine.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I like to understand people before I touch them."

"And once you do?"

"Depends if they ask me to stop."

Elena's breath caught.

"You talk like this to everyone?"

"No," he said. "Only the ones who pretend they'd say no... but don't mean it."

Silence stretched between them.

"Tell me something real," she said.

Zayne tilted his head. "Why?"

"Because you're nothing but riddles and control."

He smirked. "You like control?"

"I hate being toyed with."

"Good," he said. "Then don't pretend you're not playing too."

His phone buzzed. He didn't check it.

"Elena," he said suddenly, and the way he said her name-low, full, like he owned the syllables-sent something sharp through her.

"You don't even know me."

"But I see you."

"No, you don't."

Zayne leaned in, voice so close to her ear it made her knees weaken. "Then why are you shaking?"

She stepped back. "You're not real."

He laughed-quiet, dark, dangerous. "And yet... here I am."

Then he walked away. Again.

Back home, Elena paced her room like a caged thing. Her sketchpad was on the floor again, flipped open.

A page she hadn't drawn.

A rough sketch.

Of herself.

But not how she looked-how she felt. Tired eyes. Cracked smile. Her hands were clutching her chest like she was holding herself together.

Her name was written at the top.

Elena, Unraveling.

No one had been in her room.

The door had been locked.

The next day, in class, she sat beside Ava, chewing her pen as the lecturer droned on about narrative tension. But her head was somewhere else.

Ava leaned in. "What did he do this time?"

"Nothing."

"That's worse."

Elena sighed. "He's... everywhere. But never really there. I don't know how he does it."

"Like I said," Ava muttered, "he pulls. And you, my love, are unraveling like a spool of thread in a hurricane."

After class, she didn't go home.

She went to the library. Sat in the same chair Zayne had used the day before. Looked at the spines of books she didn't open. Watched shadows move across the floor.

Then her phone buzzed again.

Zayne: You sit like you're waiting to be ruined.

Her hands trembled.

Me: Maybe I already am.

This time, the reply took longer.

Zayne: Then let me finish what someone else started.

She stared at those words for a long time.

And slowly, without realizing it, she smiled.

Not because it was romantic.

But because it was honest.