24

Reid

Distance is a discipline… that was something I learned at an early age, long before I took anger management classes, before discipline turned into survival, before silence became my preferred language. Distance keeps things neat and easy to control. It keeps you from wanting what you shouldn’t want and touching what will inevitably burn you.

So when the new semester began, I treated distance like doctrine.

I arrived early to lectures and left late. I kept my eyes on my notes, my voice neutral, and my posture professional. I addressed students by last names only. I didn’t linger after class. I didn’t invite conversation. I didn’t acknowledge familiarity where familiarity very clearly existed.

And Arlyn?

She became a stranger.

Or at least, I pretended she was.

The first time I saw her seated two rows back, hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, pen tucked between her fingers as she laughed quietly with Jane, something twisted low in my chest. It was instinctive… and unwanted. I crushed it down and began the lecture without pausing long enough to let my gaze betray me.

But there was no need. She didn't look at me throughout, either burying her head in her notes before her or staring at a point behind me.

Good.

That was how it needed to be.

I told myself this every morning as I buttoned my shirt. Every afternoon as I walked across campus with my hands buried in my pockets, eyes forward, and mind fixed on research deadlines and thesis chapters and the million things that weren’t her.

I told myself this every time I heard her voice echo in my memory.

She was avoiding me too, and that knowledge should have been comforting, but the truth was it wasn’t.

Days sped past, and we both danced around each other, each of us determined not to get tangled up with the other. I buried myself in my classes and later on would go on to cover up lectures for my ill professor, desperate to drive her out of my head, but it was hopeless.

Because pretending didn’t erase the image of her startled eyes the night Jane caught us. Didn’t erase the way she’d melted into me like she belonged there. Didn’t erase the sound of her voice when she said my name like it wasn’t a weapon or a challenge.

I had crossed a line.

I knew that.

And I had done the only responsible thing afterward.

I walked away.

It was what I did best.

But I guess fate wasn't happy with my conclusion because yet again, it created a scenario where we would be tied together again.

It happened as I walked home one fateful day, ruminating on something I had heard during classes, and then I heard the laughter.

Not the light kind. The sharp, needling kind that poked mockingly at your nerves. I tried to ignore it. God knows I did.

But then I heard her voice.

Tight and controlled. It sounded wrong.

“Please, just leave me alone.”

My steps slowed before my brain caught up.

I shouldn’t have turned.

I did anyway.

They had her boxed in near the side of a building, four of them, maybe five… My brain wasn't counting very well. Final-year boys, by the look of them. One leaned casually against the wall, blocking her exit, while another stood in front of her, grinning like he had just won the lottery big time.

She looked small trapped in like that, and I could sense the fear beneath her false bravado.

My blood went cold.

“Relax,” one of them was saying. “We just want to talk, right, guys?”

“Well… I don’t want to talk,” she replied, voice steady but strained. “Move.”

“Come on,” another chimed in. “Don’t be like that. You think you’re too good for us now? C'mon, don't be greedy… spare us some fun.”

Hearing those words snapped something inside of me.

I didn’t think.

I didn’t weigh consequences or reputations or the careful distance I’d spent weeks maintaining.

My body moved.

“Step away from her, fellas. Trust me, you don’t want to do what I think you’re planning.”

My voice cut through the air like a blade, drawing their attention.

They took me in quickly, clearly irritated at being interrupted… my height, my posture, even my hard tone, and one of them scoffed.

“And who are you supposed to be?”

I stepped closer, deliberately placing myself between them and Arlyn. I didn’t look back at her. If I did, I wouldn’t have trusted myself to remain composed.

“You don’t need to know,” I said. “You just need to leave.”

One of them laughed.

“What, are you her boyfriend or something?”

I grinned.

“No,” I said calmly even though every cell in my body was alive with adrenaline flooding them. “I’m the reason you’re about to regret not walking away.”

Silence followed.

What they didn't know or need to know is I am a third-degree black belt holder in taekwondo, and it's been a while since I practiced.

I held their gaze, one by one. I didn't say anything or issue any further warnings, just made my face deliberately hard as I stared back at them, praying they miss the hostility in my eyes. I needed an excuse to flex my muscles.

They backed off slowly, muttering under their breath. Obviously, my prayer had gone unanswered, and they had seen the bloodlust or at most sensed it. It. They walked backwards away from us, wary of me.

Only when they were gone did I turn.

Arlyn stood frozen, shock written across her face. Her eyes met mine, wide and searching, and for half a second I forgot how to breathe.

“Are you okay?” I asked, keeping my voice level.

She nodded quickly. “Yes. I—thank you.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Because gratitude invites conversation.

Conversation lowers well-erected walls.

And lead me back to places I couldn’t afford to go.

I stepped back.

“You should report them,” I said.

She frowned. “Reid—”

I shook my head once, sharply. A warning. Reaffirming the boundaries I had already set up.

“This doesn’t change anything,” I said.

And then I turned and walked away.

I didn’t look back.

I couldn’t.

I could feel her gaze burning into my back as I put distance between us, every step heavy with things unsaid. My hands curled into fists at my sides, pulse roaring in my ears.

Reflex.

That’s what I told myself.

Pure reflex.

Anyone would’ve stepped in.

Anyone with a conscience.

It meant nothing.

Except it did.

Because no matter how far I walked, no matter how tightly I locked it down, one truth remained, standing like a rock planted firmly in the soil.

I could pretend she didn’t exist.

I could keep my distance.

I could walk away every single time.

But the moment she was in danger, my body didn’t hesitate.

… That meant I still cared for her more than I cared to admit.