The next day, Elena skipped class.
She sat on the corner of her bed, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes staring at nothing. Her phone buzzed—messages from her roommate, one from Liam. She didn't answer any.
Instead, she looked at the rose on her desk.
It was still fresh.
Too fresh.
She hadn't thrown it away. Couldn't. Something about it felt… personal. Like if she got rid of it, she'd be discarding more than a flower.
There was a knock on her door.
Twice.
Soft.
"Elena?" her roommate called, voice muffled. "Are you okay? You missed class."
"I'm fine," she replied, voice low.
She wasn't.
That night, the hallway light outside their apartment flickered. The buzzing sound had become familiar. Her roommate mentioned calling maintenance again, but Elena already knew what it meant.
He was near.
She waited until everyone was asleep before stepping out onto the balcony again. The street below was quiet, bathed in yellow-orange from the flickering lamp.
She scanned the rooftops. No one.
But her gut twisted. He was close.
The next morning, something new appeared.
A box, wrapped in deep green silk, sat outside her door. Neat. Perfect.
She looked around the hallway—empty. Her fingers trembled as she brought it inside.
She placed it gently on her desk and opened the lid.
Inside was a necklace. Silver. Simple. A small pendant in the shape of a shield, and carved into the back in tiny cursive was one word: Elena.
No note.
But she knew.
It was from him.
The realization made her breath hitch.
No one else knew what that shield meant to her. It was something from a childhood story her mother used to tell her—something she'd only mentioned once, in passing, during a conversation with her roommate.
He remembered.
He listened.
And now he'd made it real.
That day, she wore the necklace under her shirt, hidden from view. Not out of fear—out of possession. It felt like he had touched something sacred in her, something she didn't even know she wanted claimed.
Later that evening, she passed by the old bookstore again. She hesitated. Looked across the street.
There he was.
Hood up. Leaning against the brick wall. Shadowed.
She didn't cross. Didn't speak. Just stood there, staring.
He didn't move either.
It was enough.
When she turned to go home, she felt it again—the eyes. The silence. The weight of belonging to someone without permission.
Her dreams that night were strange.
She was in the rain again. In the alley. But this time, when the shadow stepped forward, she didn't flinch.
She reached for him.
But before her fingers touched his chest, she woke up.
The necklace was warm against her skin.