I'm Not Like Them

Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Plates arrived steaming and fragrant, and the booth quickly filled with the chatter of Avery and Chelsea as they dug in. Evan, ever the patient conversationalist, let them talk before steering the focus toward himself, prompted by their eager questions.

“So, Evan,” Chelsea began between bites of her pasta, “we realized we don’t actually know much about you. Where are you from?”

Evan dabbed his mouth with a napkin, smile easy. “Wyoming,” he said, leaning back against the leather booth. “A quiet place, really. Not too rich, not too poor. Just… plain life. You grow up there, you learn to value silence.” His eyes flicked momentarily to Rania, whose silence was as deliberate as breath itself.

“Wyoming?” Avery leaned forward, chin propped on her hand. “That’s so far from here. What made you leave?”

He let out a soft chuckle, swirling his glass. “Opportunity, mostly. I studied Psychology there, earned my doctorate. Spent about a year teaching full-time at a college—burned myself out quicker than I expected. So I stepped back, taught part-time, tried to enjoy what I’d worked for. And then… well, Nevada called.”

Chelsea tilted her head. “Why Nevada?”

“Because,” Evan said, with a shrug so casual it almost seemed rehearsed, “I like showing what I know. Psychology isn’t just theories—it’s people, everyday lives, minds trying to understand themselves. Teaching, even part-time, gives me that. I get to help students, even challenge them. And maybe… in return, they challenge me.”

His gaze lingered again on Rania, pointed yet playful. She pretended not to notice, methodically twirling noodles on her fork.

Avery’s eyes gleamed. “So you’re not here to make money, or chase prestige, or anything like that?”

“No.” Evan smiled faintly. “Knowledge is more useful when it’s shared. That’s all I want to do.”

The two friends exchanged a look that was half-admiration, half-teasing delight. Rania, however, took a slow sip of her drink, as though drowning out the words. “Can I ask something kind of rude?” Avery ventured, her grin mischievous. “How old are you, actually?”

“Twenty-seven,” Evan answered without hesitation. “Older than you, yes, but not so much that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be where you are.”

Chelsea let out a small gasp of mock-dramatics. “No way. You don’t look twenty-seven. Maybe… twenty-five.”

He laughed, low and amused, but said nothing. Then, naturally, their focus shifted to Rania. “What about you, Rania?” Chelsea asked. “You’ve been so quiet. Tell him something about yourself.”

Rania finally looked up, her gaze sharp as a blade. “Like what?”

“Anything. Where you’re from, what you like, your plans after college—something.”

“From here,” she answered flatly, then stabbed another bite of her food.

Avery frowned, trying again. “Come on, something more. You can’t just say ‘from here.’”

Rania’s lips curved faintly, but the smile didn’t touch her eyes. “Why not? It’s true.”

Chelsea laughed nervously, glancing at Evan. “Don’t mind her. She’s always like this.”

Evan didn’t look away. “And what do you like, Miss Veyra?” he asked softly, tone careful, almost coaxing.

Rania paused mid-bite. Her eyes met his, steady, unreadable. “I like eating in peace,” she said finally, and returned to her plate as though the conversation had ended.