Chapter 7

"Focus, focus, focus," I repeated in my mind.

"Oh God," I muttered, throwing the pen harshly onto the paper.

It had been hours since I started trying to focus on my work, and all I’d done was think about him.

My gaze drifted toward the wall that connected my room to his.

"Why the hell is my room right next to his?" I cursed silently.

Here I was, trying to focus—trying to breathe—but instead, I was spiraling. The guy I once wanted to reconnect so badly had turned out to be step-uncle. And now, not only do I have to live under the same roof as him, but fate thought it’d be fun to stick our rooms side by side?

Unbelievable.

And to make it worse, I could even hear the sounds from his room. The soft creak of the door opening, footsteps—every damn time he came or left, I heard it. It was like a cruel joke from the universe.

It honestly felt like fate wanted me to do something I’d regret later.

Frustrated, I got up. There was no point pretending like I could focus anymore.

I walked toward the balcony, hoping maybe the fresh air would calm me down.

The scenery outside was beautiful. The garden behind the house was blooming—roses, my favorite, scattered in full bloom.

My grip tightened on the railing.

He had brought a rose bouquet for me the first time we met…

“Stop it,” I scolded myself. “Stop connecting everything to him. You’re only hurting yourself.”

I stayed there for more than ten minutes, breathing slowly.

Tomorrow, I had college. I needed sleep, needed peace.

But as I turned to head back inside, my eyes fell on the other side.

His room.

Wait... our balconies are connected?

“Great. Just great.” The words slipped out of my mouth.

No barrier. Not even a railing separating them. Nothing.

"God really has it in for me these days."

“Screw it.” I muttered under my breath, heading back toward my room—but I stopped.

Should I check his room? I asked myself.

Check for what?

What in the fantasy world was I expecting? A diary full of thoughts about me? Photos hidden in a drawer?

“Don’t be delusional, Elora,” I scolded myself again.

Still, something about his room pulled me in.

And like an idiot giving in to curiosity, I stepped onto the shared balcony.

The floor creaked. My slippers made a sound with every step. Just perfect.

Not only would I hear him every time he moved, now he’d hear me too.

No complaints left in me—I was too far gone for that.

Through the balcony door, I could see his room. It was neat. Too neat. Like he barely stayed in it.

The door was slightly ajar.

I pushed it open and stepped inside.

His room reflected him. Quiet. Controlled. Everything in place.

A large photo of him hung above the bed, and I found myself staring at it.

“How does it feel to see me again, Mr. Stranger?” I whispered to his picture. “Is it awkward for you? Is that why you’re pretending not to know me? Or… did you really mean it when you said—”

‘We’ll be nothing to each other after these three nights.’

His exact words echoed in my mind.

I blinked quickly. I could feel tears threatening.

My eyes scanned the room, falling on a laptop on his table.

I sat on the floor in front of it, running my fingers gently over its surface.

“Did you ever search for me? Like I did every day for you?” I asked softly, though I knew no one was listening.

My throat tightened.

I wiped my tears with both hands.

“Why are you crying, Elora?” I whispered to myself.

Because you still want him. And now it feels wrong.

My mind answered before I could silence it.

I probably would’ve kept crying—or started cursing him—if not for the sound of a door unlocking.

“Shit,” I gasped silently.

I scrambled to get up, to rush back , But the balcony floor was too loud, it would give me away.He was already inside. No time.

Panicked, I slipped behind the long curtain hanging near the balcony door, hiding in the folds like some scared thief.

He walked in and locked the door behind him.

“Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me,” I begged in my head.

He loosened his tie and collapsed onto the bed. He looked tired. Exhausted.

He pulled out his phone and began scrolling.

Then, quietly, he said:

“I missed you.”

I froze.

His voice was soft. Sincere.

“Finally… you’re close to me,” he murmured again.

Who is he talking to?

“I missed the time we spent together. Our talks, your touch… everything. And now, we’re close again. I hope we—”

I leaned a little, trying to see the screen.

Maybe if I could just see maybe—just see if it was me—

But in the process, I knocked over a vase nearby.

I caught it before it fell, but it was too late. He heard.

“God, no.” I cursed inside.

I bolted, trying to run back. But the floor creaked loud again.

What if he thought I was invading his privacy? What if he shouted?

I was about to make a run for it when a hand grabbed me and pulled me back.

Before I could react, I was pinned against the wall.

He hovered over me. Inches away.

“Elora,” he breathed, his eyes locking onto mine.