The University felt like a different world now. The golden light of the past few weeks had been replaced by a cold, clinical grey. I lived in a tiny, cramped room in the girls' dormitory now. My things were packed in a single suitcase, a constant reminder that my "fairytale" had been nothing but a temporary loan.
Every morning, I walked to class with my head down. I didn't wear the dresses Alex liked. I didn't wear makeup. I wore the heaviest, darkest sweaters I owned, trying to make myself invisible. But I couldn't escape his presence.
When I sat in the lecture hall, I could feel his gaze. Alex stood at the front of the room, his voice as cold and sharp as a winter wind. He spoke about history and philosophy as if he didn't have a heart. Every time his eyes drifted toward my seat in the third row, I looked away. I focused on my notebook, my pen scratching against the paper until my hand ached. I ignored the way my skin prickled when he stood too close to my desk. I ignored the silent plea in his eyes.
He had chosen his career. He had chosen his "Perfect Professor" title. And I had chosen to survive.
Then came Professor Julian.
He arrived on a Tuesday, a sudden burst of warmth in the middle of our frozen campus. Julian was younger than Alex, with messy blonde hair and a smile that seemed to reach every corner of the room. He was the new Head of the Literature Department, and the moment he stepped into the cafeteria, every girl stopped eating.
But Julian only had eyes for the girl sitting alone in the corner, hiding behind a mountain of books.
"Is this seat taken?" he asked, his voice smooth and kind, unlike the jagged edges of Alex's tone.
I looked up, startled. "No. But I was just leaving."
"Stay," Julian said, sitting down anyway. He didn't look at me like a "scholarship girl" or a "scandal." He looked at me like I was a person. "I'm Julian. And I've heard you're the most brilliant student in this wing. I could use a brilliant mind to help me organize the new library archives."
For the first time in weeks, I didn't feel like a secret. I felt seen. I didn't love him, but the attention was like water to a person dying of thirst. I stayed. I talked. And for a brief moment, I laughed.
I didn't see the shadow standing behind the heavy velvet curtains of the faculty lounge balcony.
Alex stood in the dark, his fingers gripping the stone railing so hard his knuckles were white. From his vantage point, he could see everything. He saw the way Julian leaned in when I spoke. He saw the way Julian's hand brushed against mine as he reached for a book. He saw the small, fragile smile on my face—a smile he hadn't seen in weeks.
A dark, primal jealousy clawed at his chest. It was a physical pain, sharper than the Board's threats, heavier than his mother's disappointment. He had sacrificed his happiness to give me a future, but he hadn't prepared himself for the sight of someone else walking into that future with me.
He's touching her, Alex thought, his jaw tightening until it hurt. He's looking at her like she's a prize. He doesn't know her. He doesn't know the way she sighs in her sleep or the way her heart beats when she's scared. He has no right.
Alex knew he was supposed to stay away. He had signed the paper. He had promised the Board. But as he watched Julian tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, the "Perfect Professor" vanished.
The spying began that night.
Alex didn't go home to his empty, silent apartment. He couldn't stand the smell of my lingering perfume in the hallways. Instead, he stayed on campus, moving through the shadows like a ghost.
He followed us.
When Julian walked me to the dormitory at 8:00 PM, Alex was there, hidden behind the trunk of an ancient oak tree. He watched Julian hand me a coffee cup. He watched the way Julian lingered at the door, trying to start one more conversation.
Alex's breath came in short, ragged gasps. He wanted to scream. He wanted to walk out of the shadows, grab Julian by the throat, and tell him to stay away from what was his. But he couldn't. He was trapped in the cage he had built for himself.
"Goodnight, Luna," Julian said, his voice carrying through the quiet night air. "I'll see you in the library tomorrow? For the archives?"
"Yes," I replied, my voice soft. "Goodnight, Julian."
As I walked inside, I felt that familiar shiver run down my spine. It was the same shiver I felt in the library when Alex used to watch me. I stopped and looked back at the trees, searching the darkness.
"Is someone there?" I whispered.
There was no answer. Only the sound of the wind through the leaves.
Alex stayed perfectly still, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was suffering, breaking into a million pieces, but he couldn't stop. He was obsessed. He had lost the right to hold me, but he refused to lose the right to watch me.
As the lights in the dormitory went out, Alex remained in the cold. He was a man who had everything—the job, the title, the respect—and yet, as he watched the window of my room, he knew he was a beggar. He was spying on a life he was no longer allowed to live, and the jealousy was a fire that was slowly burning him alive.