THREE METERS AWAY

Elena Torres held her phone so tightly that her fingers hurt. The soft sound of students filling the lecture hall turned into a low, annoying buzz, like static in her head. A single notification on the screen pulsed like a heartbeat: Three miles away. She couldn't breathe. It wasn't possible. She updated the app once more.

300 meters away.

A chill ran down her spine. One more time to refresh.

3 meters apart.

Her stomach turned. Her heart raced. The air around her felt thicker and thicker until she couldn't breathe. She wouldn't have even known what the numbers meant two weeks ago. She didn't want to d******d the app at all. Maya, her best friend since freshman year, had almost pushed her phone across the table at the café. Maya had said,

"Please, Lena,"

with a smile as she drank her caramel latte.

"At least talk if you're not ready to date."

You're becoming a ghost. Elena rolled her eyes but let Maya do it anyway. The app seemed harmless at first, like a way to keep her mind off of things after her breakup. She was shocked when her ex posted pictures of his new girlfriend before Elena had even stopped crying and gone to sleep. The app became a safe place for her, a part of the internet where she could hide. Then she met him.

User name: A.W.

Age: "About thirty."

Where: "Far away."

At first, they just talked about small things, but soon he became the voice she turned to at night when she was feeling anxious. He was funny, kind, and smart. He remembered things. He asked how her day was going. He gave her advice that seemed like secrets she didn't know she needed. She never used his real name in their chats, but she did talk about how Adrian Wells, her

"picky, stubborn professor,"

might cost her the scholarship she needed to stay in school because of how strict he was. A.W. always answered with patience and wisdom. She didn't know what he did for a living; he was

"a consultant,"

which was vague but believable. And the distance had always made her feel better hundreds of miles, a whole continent of safety between her heart and reality. Up until now. Her eyes went up. There were a lot of people in the lecture hall, and dozens of students were hunched over their laptops with earbuds in. But at the front, a tall person moved across the room with quiet accuracy. Professor Adrian Wells, her tormentor, her idol, and the man whose class could make or break her academic future, put a folder on the lectern. Dark jacket, clean shirt, and a sharp jawline that caught the light. He didn't look at her, but she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch before he stood up straight. Her phone rang.

A.W.: "We need to talk."

Her heart stopped. She read it two times. To start the lecture, Professor Wells cleared his throat. She pushed her phone under her notebook, making her knuckles turn white. She couldn't leave because attendance was worth thirty percent of her grade. She couldn't afford to fail. Her body screamed at her to run, but her legs wouldn't move. Another buzz.

A.W.: "Don't be afraid."

She gulped down hard. She turned her head to the front. He was writing something on the board with his back to her. His body language didn't show that he was sending those messages. But her lungs still wouldn't work right. Her mind raced through everything she had sent him, from the confessions about her insomnia to the private fears to the snarky comments about him. She would be very embarrassed if anyone ever saw those messages. Worse, they were kicked out. She raised her hand, her voice shaking.

"Professor, can I—"

A folded piece of paper slid across her desk before she could finish. She didn't see anyone come up to her. Her name was written in jagged ink on the front. Under the desk, she opened it. If you stop seeing him, you'll regret it. The edges of her vision were blurry. Someone was aware. Someone was keeping an eye on you. But she hadn't met him yet. Not yet. Her head spun around. Unaware, students typed on their laptops. Nobody was paying attention to her. She looked up just as Professor Wells' eyes darted to hers, which had a warning look in them. Or was it a request? Another buzz.

A.W.: "After class, meet me."

By myself. As she locked the screen, her fingers shook. Suddenly, the dean's assistant was at the door, looking around the room with a clipboard. Are you checking attendance? Or something else? Her heart hurt a lot. She would get attention if she left. She might be walking right into a trap if she stayed. Professor Wells looked back at the class. His voice, deep and rich, broke through the fog.

"We're going to look at The Tempest today."

Elena could barely hear him. Her mind raced. What if the dean had found their messages? What if someone was trying to trick her? What if A.W. wasn't Adrian Wells at all but someone else in the room right now, pretending to be him and threatening her? The note in her hand felt like it was on fire. She closed her fist around it and fought to keep her breathing steady. She had two weeks to renew her scholarship. Any kind of punishment, even a rumour, would ruin her chances. Professor Wells looked at her again. This time, it's clear. He looked back at the board after something unreadable crossed his face. One last time, Elena's phone buzzed. She opened it up and put it under her notebook.

A.W.: "This isn't what you think."

Please. After school. Don't tell anyone. She held on so tightly that she almost broke the screen. There was no way out for her without putting everything on the line. She looked over at the door. The dean's assistant was still blocking it by tapping on her clipboard. Elena had a hard time swallowing. The walls of the lecture hall seemed to close in, and the rows of students turned into shadows. There was no more room for her to hide between her and the man at the lectern. The app blinked once more.

Distance: 0 m.