I didn't expect him to stop me.
That was the first mistake.
The corridor was nearly empty, the after-class hush settling in. I had already passed the notice board when his hand closed around my wrist.
Not rough.
Not gentle.
Certain.
I froze.
The contact sent a jolt through me—sharp, unwelcome, undeniable.
"Don't walk away," Rayan said behind me.
His voice wasn't calm anymore.
I turned slowly, meeting his eyes.
"This isn't walking away," I said. "It's moving forward."
His grip tightened just enough to make his intention clear. Not possession. Not anger.
Desperation.
"You don't get to do this," he said quietly. "You don't get to turn everything upside down and pretend it doesn't affect you."
A few students lingered at the far end of the hallway. Close enough to notice. Far enough to misunderstand.
Perfect.
I didn't pull my hand away.
"Let go," I said softly.
He didn't.
That was the moment silence officially died.
"You think this is a game?" he asked, stepping closer. "You watch. You push. You stay calm while everyone tears me apart."
"You're not being torn apart," I replied evenly. "You're being seen."
His jaw clenched.
"I didn't ask for that."
"No," I said. "You just benefited from not being noticed."
His breath hitched.
For the first time, the power between us wasn't clean. It wasn't controlled. It trembled—charged with something far more dangerous than control.
Want.
Fear.
Need.
"Why me?" he demanded. "Why do you look at me like you already know how this ends?"
I stepped closer.
Close enough that the air shifted.
"Because you're not as untouchable as you pretend to be."
His grip loosened.
Not because he wanted to.
Because the truth landed.
"People are watching," he said, glancing past me.
"Let them," I replied.
That was when his gaze snapped back to mine.
Sharp. Dark. Unfiltered.
"You don't care what they think," he said.
"No," I answered honestly. "I care what you do."
That silenced him.
Completely.
The space between us felt electric now, alive in a way it had never been before. Every breath felt shared. Every second stretched too long.
"You make me lose control," he said, voice low.
"Good," I replied. "Then you'll finally know what it feels like."
His hand slipped from my wrist—but he didn't step away.
Instead, he leaned in.
Too close.
Dangerously close.
For a second, I thought he might kiss me.
The thought hit harder than I expected.
I didn't move.
Neither did he.
Romance isn't soft when it's born from tension.It's sharp.Unforgiving.Addictive.
"You don't look afraid," he whispered.
"I'm not," I said.
"What are you then?"
I met his gaze without blinking.
"Ready."
A voice echoed down the hallway.
Someone laughed.
Reality crashed back in.
Rayan stepped away abruptly, breathing uneven, expression conflicted. The mask was gone now. Whatever stood in front of me was raw and dangerous.
"This isn't over," he said.
"It never was," I replied.
He turned and walked away without looking back.
People stared.
Whispers ignited instantly.
I stood there alone, pulse steady, heart loud.
Because now everything had changed.
The silence was broken.
The tension was visible.
And whatever existed between us had crossed a line it could never uncross.
That night, sleep didn't come easily.
Not because of fear.
But because I knew one thing with terrifying clarity:
The next move wouldn't be about control anymore.It would be about desire.
And desire doesn't play fair.