I balanced my tote on my hip as I fished for my keys, pretending not to notice the light spilling faintly from his balcony.
The lock clicked open with a soft thud, and I slipped inside, exhaling like I'd been holding my breath the whole bus ride home.
I dropped my bag, changed into shorts and an oversized shirt, and started dinner. Nothing fancy, leftover rice, an egg, soy sauce, and sesame oil.
The steam fogged my glasses as I leaned over the stove. Somewhere above, faint footsteps crossed the ceiling. Someone laughed, and it made me pause with the spatula midair.
Lloyd.
The realization hit like static against my skin.
I tried to shake it off and focus on plating my food, but the sound had already settled under my ribs. I sat down, scrolled through my phone to distract myself, messages from Mariah, a meme she said "looked like me on caffeine withdrawal." I smiled weakly and sent a quick reply, pretending my hands weren't trembling.
But when another burst of laughter echoed through the wall, deeper this time, accompanied by another voice, female, light, and tinkling, I froze.
There was nothing explicit about it. It was just laughter. But something about it burrowed deep.
I set my fork down and stared at the wall, suddenly very aware of the tight, unfamiliar ache that curled low in my stomach.
Why does it bother you? I asked myself.
He's just your neighbor. He doesn't matter.
But my brain was a liar when it came to him.
I finished dinner in silence and took the plate to the sink, rinsed it twice, and then once more, because the first two didn't feel enough.
By ten, the laughter had stopped. I told myself that was good, that the quiet was what I wanted, but it didn't feel like relief.
I went through my nightly checklist anyway. I brushed my teeth and turned on the fan for white noise.
I flipped onto my side, glaring at the ceiling like it was his fault my body had apparently decided to rewrite its entire chemistry overnight because his voice wouldn't stop haunting me.
Not the words, those were forgettable, but the texture of them. The way they scraped down my spine like velvet dragged the wrong way.
I kicked off the blanket, pulled it back up, then kicked it again. The room felt too warm, and the air too heavy. I could smell my own shampoo, that faint vanilla clinging to the pillowcase, and it only made me more aware of myself, my pulse, the slick heat on my neck, the ridiculous tremor running through me.
Get a grip, Nyelle.
He's just a guy. A loud, cocky, probably insufferable guy.
But my traitor of a brain replayed the slope of his smile anyway, the one that looked carved rather than earned. I shut my eyes and tried to erase it. Instead, his laughter threaded through the dark like a song I didn't ask for, curling into the hollow behind my ribs.
The ache built until it was almost physical, and panic hit.
I sat up fast, heart hammering, throat dry. My body was acting like it had been... triggered by something, and I hated it, the way it refused to listen to reason. I buried my face in my hands, trying to breathe the heat out.
When that didn't work, I grabbed my phone. If I couldn't stop thinking about him, maybe I could neutralize him, find some proof that he was just another self-absorbed guy, nothing more. Something to ruin the illusion.
I opened Instagram. Typed his name. Deleted it. Typed again. The search bar blinked at me like it was in on the joke.
There were hundreds of Lloyds, millions, even, and still, somehow, I knew I'd find him. My thumb hovered before adding our campus name. A small, stupid hope whispered that maybe he wasn't online, and that maybe this obsession was just mine to carry.
The screen refreshed. And there he was.
Top of the list. Verified. Every inch of him was exactly as magnetic as memory made him. @lloyd.Luxen, 200k followers, athlete, basketball highlight reels, a grin that screamed I know I'm trouble. His bio read:
đ "Not everything needs to be figured out."
Of course it didn't. Guys like him never had to figure things out, the world just bent to their rhythm.
The first photo stopped me cold, him mid-air, jersey clinging, and the entire court blurred beneath his leap. The next was a grin, with his teeth flashing, and arms spread as if he owned gravity itself. Another was a close-up, sweat catching the light on his throat.
I wasn't into sports. I didn't even know the difference between a dunk and a lay-up, yet I scrolled like I'd been starving for this. Each image was a pulse of color and motion that made something inside me tighten.
Crowds, teammates, trophy shots. The comments section was an avalanche of heart emojis and drooling faces. Apparently, the entire campus already belonged to him.
I should've stopped there. I told myself I would. And then my thumb slipped, followed immediately by a soft click, and the tiny blue checkmark turned solid.
Following.
It took a heartbeat for the horror to register. My stomach dropped through the mattress.
"No, no, no..."
I scrambled, unfollowed instantly, praying he hadn't seen the notification, praying the algorithm would be merciful. My pulse was so loud it drowned out the room. I stared at the phone like it was a live wire, cheeks burning hot enough to light the air.
How did it come to this?
A single class, a handful of words, and now I was the kind of girl who stalked a man she barely knew.
I dropped the phone facedown and lay there, motionless, half hoping the ceiling would cave in and bury me before morning. But even then, the thought of him wouldn't fade. It pulsed quietly under my embarrassment. A notification blinked at the top of my screen.
Lloyd Luxen has sent you a message.
My pulse stopped.
You stalking me, neighbor? đ
I dropped the phone. Literally. It hit the carpet with a dull thud while I stared at it like it had grown teeth. I picked it back up.
Oh my god, no đ I followed you by accident.
There! Perfect, casual, and totally believable. Except that the typing bubble appeared instantly.
lol sure, you "accidentally" searched my full name and followed me? That's dedication
đ Don't flatter yourself. I texted back.
Who says I need to?
You really are full of yourself, huh,
just confident. There's a difference.
right. confident enough to DM strangers in the middle of the night?
You're not a stranger. You're the girl from across the hall who doesn't wear a shirt in 90-degree heat.
I choked.
I literally choked on air.
The audacity! The nerve! The fact that my face was on fire!
That's not... I was unpacking. It was hot. The air conditioning was broken.
mmm excuses.
You're insufferable.
And yet you're still replying.
I wanted to hurl my phone across the room. I also wanted to keep reading whatever came next.
He didn't text again for a few seconds, long enough for me to think it was over.
So what's your favorite pie? His text popped up again.
My fingers hovered. This again?
cherry. why?
noted.
noted for what??
You'll see.
And then he went offline. Just like that.
No goodbye, emoji, or explanation.
I stared at the empty chat box, heart still hammering, a weird little ache building in my stomach.
The logical part of me screamed to stop. To block him, erase the conversation and the heat pooling low in my abdomen.
But the part of me that had felt invisible for years, that part leaned into the screen light and read the last message again. You'll see.
