The Cage of Appearances

The next day dragged on endlessly. I tried to convince myself that everything was normal, that the evening’s fundraiser hadn’t disrupted anything at all. But that was easier said than done—the whispers, the fleeting sensations, the nagging feeling of being observed when no one else was around. By lunchtime, I had to escape the house; being indoors only made everything worse. Eventually, I found myself at the library. It felt like the only stable place left. People came and went, books were opened and closed, but nothing outside felt certain anymore.

I quickly spotted my favorite table by the window, where I usually set down my bag. With my notebook in hand, I attempted to write, but the words just wouldn't come. I drummed my pen on the notebook, feeling the awkward rhythm of an unfinished thought. Letting out a frustrated sigh, I halted my efforts.

“Still the same boring Nadira, huh?” A scornful voice cut in from behind me. I turned to my right and saw Magnolia. She looked flawless, her hair perfectly styled, and her outfit was undoubtedly just as polished. That same smile, with a hint of condescension, was all I could remember from our school days.

“What do you want?” I snapped back.

“Relax, it’s all good,” she replied, sliding into the chair across from me as if she owned the place. “I just wanted to check in. It’s been ages, hasn’t it?”

“You used to hate me. What’s changed?”

Her smile didn’t waver. “Nothing much. But it’s nice to see you making an effort. Look at you—trying to be the life of the party.” I glanced around; a few students at nearby tables were engrossed in their laptops, while the librarian quietly shelved books. No one else heard how her voice hardened as she leaned closer.

“Always such a crybaby,” Magnolia sneered. “Remember when you begged me not to let anyone see that letter you wrote? Pathetic.”

My chest tightened, but I stayed still, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Are you done?” I whispered.

Her eyes gleamed with malice. “Not even close.” With her grin firmly in place, she got up and sauntered away, as if performing for an audience. I let out a slow breath, gripping my pen so tightly that I feared it might break.

I barely had a moment to collect myself when another shadow fell over my table.

“Why don’t you want to marry me?”

I stiffened. The voice was deep and steady; I knew without looking that it was Thane.

I swallowed hard and straightened up. He was wearing his usual black attire, looking sharp and attracting attention from those nearby. He took a seat at the chair Magnolia had just vacated, without waiting for an invitation.

“Excuse me?” I replied, taken aback.

“You heard me,” he said, holding my gaze. “Why won’t you marry me?”

I blinked, unsure if he was serious. “I don’t even like you. Isn’t that reason enough?”

He gave a small, almost amused smile. “That’s not good enough.”

I set my notebook aside, feeling a mix of disbelief and frustration. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice emotionless but his gaze steady. “But you didn’t vocalize that.”

“I did.”

He leaned in closer, urging me. “Say it again.”

His intensity made it hard to swallow. “I definitely don’t want to marry you!”

An uncomfortable silence settled between us. I half expected him to burst into laughter, but instead, he assessed me as if weighing every word I had spoken.

“Love isn’t essential,” he stated matter-of-factly.

My stomach twisted. “For you, perhaps. Not for me.”

He slumped in his chair, resting his hand on the table as if he had nowhere else to go. “You think you have a choice.”

“I do,” I replied, my voice trembling slightly, but I steadied it. “I always have a choice.”

He intertwined his fingers, his gaze inscrutable. “You’ll realize soon enough. Running away won’t protect you.”

“I’m not running,” I shot back defiantly. “I’m just living my life. You’re the one who seems to be everywhere.”

He narrowed his eyes, but not in anger. “You think you can follow me.”

“I do,” I confirmed. He didn’t argue; instead, he simply asked, “Do you really despise me this much?”

“Yes,” I said without a second thought.

But my response lacked the conviction I meant to convey. It came out softer than I intended. A small, sly smile crept back onto his face, subtle yet palpable.

“You’re not good at lying,” he remarked.

A wave of heat rushed to my face. I got up, stuffing my notebook and pen into my bag. “I’m not having this conversation here.”

He stayed where he was. “We’re not finished yet.”

“I am,” I insisted, swinging the strap of my bag over my shoulder and heading for the door, my heart racing.

As soon as I stepped outside, the frigid air hit me like a shock. I inhaled deeply, trying to shake off the heaviness of his gaze, but it clung to me like a lingering fog.

---

I ducked into a small café across the street. It wasn’t too busy—just a couple working on laptops and an elderly man reading the newspaper. I ordered a cup of tea and chose a spot by the window, deliberately facing away from the library in case he decided to follow.

My phone buzzed with a message from a classmate asking for some notes. I quickly typed a response, trying to keep everything feeling normal. But my hands trembled, and I placed the phone on the floor to steady myself.

Why did he bring this up? Why now? The idea of marriage had never crossed my mind, especially not with him. Yet, the way he talked about it—so casually, as if it was already a done deal—knocked me off balance.

I rubbed my forehead in frustration and muttered, “He’s nuts.”

“Talking to yourself?” the waitress asked with a friendly grin as she set my cup down in front of me.

“Yeah,” I replied, feeling sheepish. “Sorry about that.”

She chuckled softly and walked away.

I stared at the tea, watching it cool without taking a sip. My thoughts kept circling back to his question.

Why don’t you want to marry me?

As if it was the most mundane thing in the world.

I had assured myself it didn’t matter—that he was just trying to rattle me. Yet deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the start of something far more complicated.