Chapter 2: Eyes

“Hey, pretty,” my sister says with an appraising smile as she tugs a strand of my long brown hair.

 

“Hey,” I reply, stifling a yawn.

 

The long nights are finally starting to catch up with me. It’s only a diner, but this place is known for staying open deep into the night. We get the late crowd. The after-party stragglers, the drunk couples, the exhausted truck drivers who just want coffee strong enough to wake the dead.

 

Evee’s milkshakes have become somewhat legendary around here. Apparently they cure hangovers better than aspirin.

 

“You need to sleep,” Zara says, frowning at me. “You start school tomorrow. You need to be in your best shape.”

 

I nudge her shoulder lightly. “I’ll be fine. I can survive on four hours of sleep.”

 

“She can,” Evee agrees seriously from behind the bar before fixing me with a pointed look. “But not tonight.” Her gaze sharpens. “Go home. Rush hour is over. Get some sleep before you start flirting with all the boys tomorrow.”

 

I roll my eyes but don’t argue.

 

They’re probably right. And if I’m honest with myself, I’m a little nervous about tomorrow. A new academic year always comes with its own chaos—new professors, new schedules, new expectations.

 

I untie the small pink apron from around my waist and place it on the counter while Zara crouches down to unclip my rollerblades.

 

“You spoil me,” I tell her. “Someone has to,” she mutters, working at the straps.

 

Evee tosses a small stack of bills onto the bar—my share of tonight’s tips—and I instinctively glance toward the corner of the diner.

 

Towards him.

 

I guess I’ll be missing his tip tonight.

 

The thought slips into my mind before I can stop it.

 

My cheeks instantly heat and I quickly look away, clearing my throat as if that might somehow erase the sentence from existence.

 

“I’ll see you next week,” Evee says casually.

 

I snap my head up. “Next week?” I repeat, stunned. “I’ve worked every single night for the last eight weeks.”

 

“And now you’re taking a week off,” she replies calmly.

 

I stare at her.

 

She crosses her arms. “Focus on school,” she says firmly. “I’ll see you in a week.”

 

I blink at her for several seconds. Since I started working here, I’ve never taken more than two consecutive days off. A whole week almost feels illegal. It’s like a holiday. Minus the part where I still have full-time classes.

 

Evee grins. “You deserve it. Go enjoy your evenings.”

 

“And maybe spend some time with your dear sister,” Zara interrupts dramatically, draping herself over the bar like she’s seconds away from fainting.

 

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re here every night enjoying your—”

 

I slap her hand aside before she can grab anything. “Free fudge,” I finish with a warning glare.

 

She ignores me completely and snatches a piece of chocolate fudge from the cake stand, shoving it into her mouth before I can stop her.

 

“That’s not actual quality time,” she mumbles through the chocolate. “I need my baby sister to watch my terrible reality TV shows with.”

 

She leans against me with exaggerated despair.

 

“Specifically, I need emotional support while watching Married at First Sight.”

 

Evee immediately raises both hands in surrender. “See? I refuse to get in the middle of that. Please watch the entire season with her so I never have to hear about it again.”

 

She reaches under the counter and tosses my sneakers over the bar. I laugh as I pull them on.

 

Beside me, Zara dramatically slaps Evee’s hand in victory.

 

A moment later she hooks her arm through mine and steers me toward the diner doors. I sigh deeply. I know the air outside will be cool and crisp. A stark difference to the diner. Summer is fading fast. The sky is darker earlier now, and there’s a bite in the wind that wasn’t there a few weeks ago.

 

“Don’t flirt with the teachers!” Evee shouts from loudly, making sure the entire diner hears her.

 

My cheeks instantly turn bright red. I look over my shoulder and flip her off aggressively. She grins widely and gives me two enthusiastic thumbs-up. I shake my head, trying to hide my smile as Zara drags me toward the parking lot.

 

But just as we reach the door—

Something pulls at me.

 

I don’t know why.

 

But my gaze drifts back toward the diner. Toward the corner booth.

 

Toward him.

 

And for the first time since he started coming here… The stranger is looking at me.

 

Not at his book.

Not at the table.

At me.

Directly at me.

Time seems to stutter.

 

His hood still hides most of his face, but his eyes are visible now—clear beneath the shadow.

 

Dark grey.

Intense.

Unmoving.

 

They lock onto mine with such sudden force that my breath catches in my throat. For weeks he has barely spoken three words to me. For weeks he has never once looked up.

 

And now—

Now he’s staring at me like he’s been doing it the entire time.

 

Like he’s always been watching.

 

The intensity of it hits me like a physical thing. My stomach flips violently and I nearly miss a step.

 

Zara’s grip tightens around my arm, steadying me as we keep walking. But I can’t look away.

 

His gaze follows me across the diner.

 

Heavy. Focused. Unapologetic. Like he’s memorizing me.

 

The world outside the diner fades into the background. There’s only those eyes.

 

And the strange heat spreading through my chest.

 

Zara pulls me out of the diner.

 

And the spell finally breaks. Water droplets distort the view, blurring his figure into shadow again.

 

Only then do I blink.

Only then do I breathe.

 

When I snap back into reality, I feel a different woman.

 

By the time we reach the car, I feel like something inside me has shifted. Nobody has ever looked at me like that before. The memory of it lingers in my body like a spark under my skin.

 

What the fuck is wrong with me?

 

I blink twice, trying to shake myself out of whatever strange trance I’ve fallen into.

 

Rain splashes against my face, cold, heavy drops that I somehow didn’t even notice before. It’s pouring now, the sky opening up in a sudden torrent that soaks us within seconds.

 

Zara is already pulling me along. “Come on!” she shouts over the rain.

 

I finally obey, running beside her across the parking lot. Water splashes beneath our shoes as we race toward my car. I glance briefly at the storefront where she works—the fancy designer bag shop with its polished glass windows and gold lettering.

 

Dark right now. Closed.

 

The parking lot is mostly empty now. Only a handful of cars remain: my red Audi, a few tired-looking black sedans, and Evee’s unmistakable yellow Beetle parked near the diner entrance.

 

We dive into the dry warmth of my car, slamming the doors behind us as rain pounds against the roof. I start the engine almost automatically, before my brain can catch up with the rest of me. The dashboard lights flicker on, bathing the car in a soft glow.

 

Zara tosses her bag into the back seat and immediately turns up the music. I barely hear it. My mind is still back in the diner. Still caught in that moment.

 

Something is seriously wrong with me.

 

“I’ve got you something,” Zara says suddenly, just before I can press the gas pedal. I turn toward her.

 

Her bright blue eyes cut through the fog in my head like sunlight. She’s holding a large box in her lap, the elegant gold logo of her store printed across the lid.

 

My mouth falls open.

We cannot afford the things that store sells.

Not even close.

 

“Open it,” she urges, practically vibrating with excitement. My fingers tremble slightly as I lift the lid. A strange sound escapes my throat.

 

Inside the box sits one of the most beautiful bags I’ve ever seen. The leather is flawless, soft and rich, the color deep and elegant. Even the stitching looks perfect. I recognize it instantly. It’s a limited edition.

 

The kind of thing people save up for years to buy.

 

I don’t even dare touch it.

 

It rests in the box like it belongs in a museum. Slowly, I look up at her.

 

“A gift,” she says proudly. “For the new academic year.”

 

“A gift?” I repeat weakly. “Why?”

 

My brain is still trying to process what this costs. This bag probably costs five times my yearly salary.

 

Zara shrugs, though her smile doesn’t fade. “It arrived at the shop two weeks ago, and I’ve been obsessing over it ever since. I kept telling everyone how perfect it would look on my baby sister.”

 

She gently brushes a hand over the leather. “And…”

 

My eyes narrow slightly. “And what?” I ask.

 

Something about her tone makes my stomach twist.

 

She shifts in her seat. “And my boss insisted I take it for you,” she finishes. “For free.”

 

I stare at her. “For free?” I repeat slowly.

 

She nods.

 

“Why would he do that?” I ask, frowning. “He doesn’t even know me.”

 

Zara shrugs again, leaning back against the seat. “I barely know him either,” she admits. “I’ve only seen him twice since I started working there. Apparently he’s ridiculously rich. Like money falling out of his pockets rich.”

 

She gestures toward the bag. “A handbag is nothing to someone like that. If it keeps his employees happy, I guess it’s worth it.”

 

Her hand pats the bag affectionately. “And I’m happy to make my sister happy,” she says softly. “Take it. It’ll look perfect on you.”

 

Emotion swells unexpectedly in my chest. Before I can stop myself, I lean across the center console and wrap my arms around her. “Thank you,” I whisper into her hair.

 

I squeeze her tighter for a moment while the music hums softly around us and rain drums against the windshield. “Seriously,” I add quietly. “Thank you.”

 

When I pull back, she’s still smiling.

 

“And thank your boss for me too,” I say. “When is he in next? I’d like to meet him.”

 

Zara’s grin turns mischievous. “I’ll let you know,” she says. “He’s a total hottie, by the way. Like… unfairly attractive. Supermodel levels.”

 

She pauses. “But also kind of terrifying.”

 

I raise an eyebrow. “Terrifying?”

 

She shrugs. “Just… very intense. Hard to approach. The kind of guy that makes everyone suddenly forget how to talk.”

 

I snort. “I don’t care. I still want to thank him in person.”

 

Finally, I press the gas pedal. The car pulls out of the parking lot, tires hissing over the rain-soaked asphalt. Water streaks across the windshield so heavily that the wipers struggle to keep up.

 

As we drive away, I notice a pair of headlights appear behind us.

 

They’re bright enough that I instinctively adjust the rearview mirror.

 

The road home is slick and reflective, rain washing away most of the lane markings and turning the streetlights into blurry golden smears.

 

The car behind me slowly creeps closer. I squint through the mirror. A low, expensive-looking sports car. Of course.

 

Probably one of those ridiculous machines with racing tires that grip the road like glue.

 

Meanwhile I’m crawling along at a cautious speed, trying not to hydroplane.

 

The strange part is…

He doesn’t overtake me. Despite having plenty of room. Despite clearly being able to drive much faster.

 

Instead, the headlights remain behind me.