The first time Rayan touched my wrist, the entire classroom went silent.
Not because it was intimate.
Because it was visible.
"Wait."
His fingers closed around me just as I stood up, light but unmistakable. The contact was brief—barely a second—but it landed like a spark in dry air.
Thirty heads turned.
The teacher stopped mid-sentence.
Someone laughed, sharp and surprised.
I froze.
Rayan didn't.
"Don't," he said quietly. "Not yet."
The words were low. Controlled. Dangerous in the way calm things are when they shouldn't be.
Heat rushed up my neck as I pulled my hand free. "What are you doing?" I hissed.
He looked at me then—really looked. Not smiling. Not apologizing. Just intent. As if the room didn't exist.
"You dropped this," he said, holding up my notebook.
Relief should have come.
It didn't.
Because no one cared about the notebook.
They cared about the way he had stopped me.
The way I hadn't moved fast enough.
The way his attention had chosen me.
The teacher cleared her throat. "Rayan. Take your seat."
He obeyed instantly, expression unreadable.
I sat down slowly, pulse pounding so hard it blurred the edges of my vision.
That was how it began.
Not with a glance.
Not with a rumor.
With a moment that could not be taken back.
I had noticed Rayan before that day.
Everyone had.
He was the kind of presence that didn't demand attention but received it anyway—quiet, composed, almost detached. Teachers trusted him. Students respected him. Girls watched him carefully and pretended they weren't.
I never planned to be one of them.
We had never spoken. Never worked together. Never even shared a proper conversation.
Which was why the way he looked at me during lectures—steady, thoughtful—made no sense.
And why I always looked away.
I didn't want to be noticed.
Especially not by someone like him.
But after that moment, attention followed me like a shadow.
Whispers threaded through the room.
"Did you see that?"
"Why did he grab her?"
"They know each other?"
I kept my eyes on the board, pen moving automatically.
Control your expression.
Control your posture.
Don't react.
Reaction is an invitation.
During the break, I packed my bag quickly, intent on leaving before anyone could corner me.
I didn't make it two steps past the door.
"Hey."
Rayan stood there, blocking the hallway traffic without meaning to. Or maybe he did mean to. It was hard to tell with him.
"I didn't ask for that," I said before he could speak.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. "I know."
"Then don't do it again."
"I won't."
Simple. Immediate.
That should have ended it.
It didn't.
Because then he added, "But you were leaving before the teacher finished."
I stared at him. "That's not your responsibility."
"No," he agreed. "But you looked like you were trying to escape."
Something in his voice—too observant, too certain—made my stomach tighten.
"I wasn't," I said.
He watched me for a second longer than necessary.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
Not wide.
Not charming.
Just a small curve of understanding.
"That's worse," he said.
I didn't know what he meant.
I didn't ask.
I walked away.
Behind me, the whispers grew louder.
By lunch, the story had already formed.
"They're definitely something."
"He wouldn't touch someone like that otherwise."
"She acts innocent, though."
I sat with my friends, nodding at the right moments, laughing when expected. Inside, my thoughts ran sharp and fast.
This was bad.
Not because of him.
Because of how easily people believed the version of events they preferred.
Across the cafeteria, Rayan sat with his friends.
He wasn't looking at me.
That unsettled me more than if he had.
I stood to throw away my tray.
That was when my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
We need to talk. This got out of hand.
I stared at the screen.
Out of hand?
I typed back before I could stop myself.
There is nothing to talk about.
Three dots appeared instantly.
Then vanished.
I felt it then—that subtle tightening in the room. Like something had shifted direction.
When I looked up, Rayan was watching me.
Not calmly this time.
Concern edged his expression, faint but real.
I held his gaze.
And deliberately looked away.
The teacher called me aside at the end of the day.
"Be careful," she said gently. "People are noticing."
"I didn't do anything," I replied.
She hesitated. "That's not always what matters."
The sentence followed me down the hallway.
I opened my notebook in my last class and found a folded piece of paper tucked inside.
My breath caught.
One line.
I didn't mean to make you the center of this.
My fingers trembled.
I knew his handwriting without ever having seen it before.
When I looked up, Rayan was already watching.
Waiting.
Not hopeful.
Not apologetic.
As if he expected me to choose.
I folded the note slowly and slipped it into my bag.
I didn't respond.
The bell rang.
Chairs scraped. Voices rose. Life resumed.
But something irreversible had already taken shape.
As I walked out of the classroom, I felt it clearly for the first time—
This wasn't a misunderstanding anymore.
It was a beginning.
And silence, once chosen, would cost us both.