How I Never Notice You?

The demand in his tone made Esther’s chest tighten. She drew in a quiet breath, her lashes fluttering as if bracing herself. And then, obediently, she spoke. Her words painted the events of the night about his sudden arrival, his restless state, the way she had tried to calm him down. Yet she carefully veiled the truth, omitting the single moment that had left her shaken: the stolen kiss, her first, snatched away by his drunken recklessness.

Throughout her recount, Esther’s gaze never lingered on him. She glanced in his direction only briefly, as if the weight of his stare was too much to bear, before her eyes darted away again. The air between them grew thick with unspoken tension, the kind that made her pulse quicken and her palms damp. She had never imagined being alone in a kitchen with him, not like this, not after last night.

When she finally fell silent, Gaara tilted his head slightly, watching her like a predator studying prey.

“That’s it?” he asked flatly.

Esther swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod. “Yes. That’s all.”

“You’re certain nothing else happened between us?” Gaara pressed once more.

“No. Nothing.”

Her answer was steady, but Gaara narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering there. Either he was being overly sensitive, or his instincts were clawing at him for a reason. Something in her manner unsettled him. The restless way her fingers worried at the hem of her borrowed shirt, the way her gaze refused to meet his for more than a fleeting second. She was hiding something; of that much, he was sure.

He could draw his own conclusions, but watching her squirm like this sparked a darker impulse in him. If she wanted to bury the truth, perhaps he would enjoy pulling it closer to the surface slowly like a cat toying with prey.

“If that’s all,” he said at last, his tone deceptively casual, “then why are you wearing my shirt?”

Esther froze, her eyes instinctively darting downward to the loose T-shirt draped over her frame. Color rushed to her cheeks before she answered in a small, careful voice. “Stella gave it to me as a change of clothes. Mine were completely soaked last night. She said I needed something dry until they were washed. So… she lent me yours.”

Her head bowed, shoulders curling inward as if to shield herself, her words soft with remorse. “I’m sorry for wearing it without asking you first.”

Gaara leaned back, watching her with a gaze that betrayed nothing. His lips curved, not into a smile but something unreadable. “It doesn’t matter,” he said simply.

To be honest, even if what the caretaker had done was rather presumptuous, Gaara found no anger in himself toward the man. If anything, he almost felt grateful. Because of him, Gaara was rewarded with a sight far too exquisite for the break of dawn. And the cruel twist was that the girl he had always thought of as ordinary, unremarkable, even forgettable, now looked nothing short of dangerously alluring in his shirt.

His gaze betrayed him. Instinctively, his eyes roamed her figure, slow and deliberate, tracing every subtle line, every shadow, every vulnerable detail. And when his stare lingered upon her bare legs. He found himself caught in disbelief.

How?

How had he never noticed them before?

How could he have walked past such sinful beauty on campus without a second thought?

“Well,” Gaara finally spoke, his voice a husky thread of insistence, “what I asked from the very beginning was whether you’re wearing anything beneath that shirt. You still haven’t answered me.”

“Of course I am!” she snapped back, a flicker of indignation in her tone, offended at the insinuation. Her movements came impulsive. Esther tugged the hem of the shirt upward just enough to prove her point.

“See?” she huffed, revealing the hem of shorts almost indecent that barely clung to her thighs. “These are Stella’s.”

The confession tumbled out as if she needed to reclaim her dignity, but instead, the sight only deepened Gaara’s intrigue. Gaara smirked as he caught the sudden flush that bloomed across Esther’s cheeks. Her embarrassment was palpable, radiating from her as if she regretted her own impulsive gesture.

“Anyway, Gaara…” Esther finally spoke, her voice hesitant, as though she was desperate to change the subject. “About our home ec project, if you really can’t work on it, I don’t actually mind doing it myself. I don’t mean that in a bad way, it’s just… we only have today and tomorrow left before the deadline, so—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Gaara cut in, his tone edged with irritation. Of course she was right. The project was the very reason their paths had crossed. The reason she was even in his house this morning. But for her to bring it up now, in this exact moment, while he was distracted by the sight of her in his clothes, felt like a slap of cold water. “Is that really the only thing you can think about right now?”

“I was just trying to confirm,” she murmured, her voice shrinking to a small squeak. “My intentions are good, you know.”

“Fine,” Gaara relented, rolling his shoulders with exaggerated impatience. “Let’s just do it now.”

Her head snapped up in shock. “Now?”

“You said it’s due tomorrow, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but… shouldn’t you at least take a shower first? I mean… you’re still hungover, aren’t you?” she asked, half in disbelief, half in concern.

Gaara hopped down from the kitchen counter, stretching out his limbs. To his own surprise, the throbbing headache that had plagued him earlier was gone as if it had never existed. Could it really be that the strange concoction she had made him had worked?

“It’s fine,” he replied, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “If we wait until later, I might just change my mind.”