Chapter 2 2

I don't know what happens next, but the following morning, I am awakened to the sound of muffled voices down the stairs. I hear the slam of the front door, followed by the deep baritone laugh that sounds too familiar, floating through the whole house.

I shoot up in my bed, ignoring the intense heartbeat surging up, and start padding towards the hallway.

The noise grows even louder, following a series of thuds echoing straight from the living room.

I peek over the railing and at the perfect time see him: the man who will be staying with us for the next few months.

Father is pulling two suitcases from the booth of his black car into the house. Nolan stands behind him, tall and imposing, his dark baggy jeans and purple turtle-neck top fitting him like a second skin.

His jaw is sharp, his expression totally unreadable as he fits his hand into his pockets, his eyes studying the surroundings.

He goes ahead to help Father with the suitcase from the entrance. I realize he doesn't look the same. He is different, totally different from the man who used to go on secret outings with me and ruffle my hair.

This man is all sharp edges, eyes colder and more distant than I remember. Before he can look up the stairs and catch me staring, I skeddadle into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me and resting on it.

The man who I never wish to see returns to my life.

Shifting those thoughts aside, I dress up quickly for school, just wearing blue jeans, a fitted black top and a pair of my favorite sneakers. My phone has been charging all night, face-down the lampstand because I had shut it off after receiving a series of uncomfortable and endless pings about the scandal of the previous day.

The scandal is now spreading faster than wildfire, but I choose to ignore it.

I unplug the phone, shove it into my bag, and turn the knob on the door, only to nearly collide with him: Nolan.

He is coming out of the room two doors away from mine, the door tightly closed behind him. I nod my head absentmindedly, taking note of where he will be staying now.

His hair is damp like he's just taken a bathe, and his dark eyes are fixed on me the whole time.

"Morning, Hazel." His voice is warm and casual. I want to run into his arms and scream his name like six years ago, but I'm all grown now.

"Morning. Welcome to staying with us." I say awkwardly, my gaze instantly darting to the stairs.

I don't know why, but I just want to get out of there, at that very minute.

"You're returning to campus?" He asks, like he's been dying to talk so badly to me for the past six years.

"Of course, I am," I respond. My answer is clipped, polite and nothing else, even though I want to know how he's aware I now attend an institution.

He falls a step behind me, and I suddenly become acutely aware of all of his movements, which includes his measured footsteps, the faint scent of his cologne, and the way the air seems heavier with him in it.

I cannot also deny my mind playing tricks, making me feel his gaze on my back.

I don't bother looking back, rather heading straight for the kitchen and walking up to the fridge and sending a greeting to mother who is preparing breakfast.

"You've not met Nolan this morning, have you?" She asks, rinsing the veggies and placing them on a chop board. I turn aside to the washing sink after grabbing a cold can of fruit juice, studying the wall like it is worth it.

"I did see him, just now, along the stairs." I reply quickly, zipping my bag noiselessly.

The fridge door opens again behind me and I don't have to turn to know it is him. Out of the corner of my left eye, I catch him taking out the bottled water, twisting the cap with one hand.

Mother stops the slicing halfway, washes and wipes her hands on a dishtowel. "You should eat something before leaving. I see you grabbing a fruit juice can. Honestly, I don't want you to have ulcer."

"I'll grab something later at school." I lie, already edging toward the living room.

I reach up to Dad seated and watching a different TV show and bend a little to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Have a good day, Hazel." He says.

I round up the couch, my eyes meeting his. Nolan is standing by the dining table now, water bottle still in hand, and watching me.

Not in a casual way, but as though he is trying to read something particular about me. Trying to fathom why I haven't spoken more than a line with him since we met.

And to be frankly speaking, I do not have any idea why I feel things might get deeply different between us.

I look away and slip out of the door. The air outside is crisp, and looking ahead, I see Frank already waiting in the car. He's been the same calm driver who's been with our family for years.

He greets me as I walk closer. "Morning, miss."

I pause, recalling how I had barely talked to him the previous day. "Morning, Frank. I'm sorry for snubbing you yesterday. Seriously, I wasn't in a good mood." I apologize sincerely.

In the last few years, Frank's grown to be one of the few people who really understands me. He nods and opens the door for me.

"I understand." He smiles.

I slid into the back seat, exhaling.

The drive to campus goes smoothly, peacefully till we gradually reach the school's environment, particularly the gigantic gates.

I notice, even before we turn onto the main lot, the huge clusters of students who gather in small groups, their voices hush as their eyes follow me as the car rolls past.

I have always driven a particular kind of car to school and I don't need to guess that they are still gossiping about the public disgrace I experienced a day ago.

The whispers swell even more when I step out of the car, but I keep my chin high, not allowing the gossips to get to me, even when the stares feel like static on my skin.

After sending a brief wave to Frank, I turn in the direction of my department, that is, the Department of Electrical Engineering, promising myself never to turn till I reach my destination.

However, at that minute, someone's voice breaks through the murmurs. I turn quickly to see Caleb approaching too casually and wearing that crooked smile, like the last twenty-four hours haven't been disastrous.

"I've been trying to talk to you." He starts cockily, his tone making me boil from within. He continues, "Why didn't you reply to my messages last night? Hazel, see, I can explain about yesterday-"

He is yet to finish when my palm connects with his cheek in a loud, sharp crack. Trust me, the sound echoes.