I'm Not Like Them

Chapter 8

Chelsea choked back a laugh, Avery covering her mouth to hide hers. Evan only smiled, but it was taut at the edges, as though he recognized the deliberate wall she had built between them.

Undeterred, he tried again. “What about your dreams after this? Graduate studies? Work? Travel?”

Rania didn’t look up. “Dreams are unreliable. Better not to speak of them.”

The booth fell silent for a heartbeat, her words slicing through the easy air. Chelsea shifted, Avery toyed with her fork, unsure how to follow. Evan, though, leaned forward once more, a flicker of something sharper behind his smile. “That’s one way to look at it,” he said quietly. “Or maybe,” his gaze lingered, “it’s safer to keep them hidden.”

Rania’s reply was immediate, almost cutting. “Or maybe it’s none of your business.”

This time, Avery’s laugh broke out loud, filling the space, her attempt to rescue the tension. “She really is savage, Professor.”

Evan’s smile widened, though his eyes never left Rania. “I’ve noticed.”

For the rest of the meal, Avery and Chelsea kept the conversation flowing, firing off questions like eager reporters, delighted by every answer Evan gave. He indulged them, telling just enough stories to paint himself as approachable—the professor who wasn’t really a professor tonight. He laughed when they teased, leaned in when they pressed him for details, always warm, always patient.

But behind his smile, his thoughts moved elsewhere.

Rania. She didn’t join their laughter. She didn’t chase his stories with questions or bat her eyes the way her friends did. No—she sat with her back straight, her face guarded, and her words few. And somehow, that silence commanded more of his attention than all their chatter combined.

He found himself cataloging every detail—the subtle press of her lips when she disapproved, the careful way she handled her utensils, the slight crease between her brows when her friends prodded her. She wasn’t playing along. She wasn’t even trying. And still, she had him spellbound.

“Professor, you should really come out with us more often,” Chelsea said suddenly, pulling him back into the present. “You’re way more fun after we learnt about your profession.”

“I agree,” Avery chimed. “You don’t feel like a teacher at all right now. It’s kind of refreshing.”

Evan chuckled, feigning modesty. “Well, the trick is to stop acting like one. I don’t believe in walls between people—whether it’s age, titles, or roles. They’re… illusions, most of the time.”

He let the words hang, and though he was looking at Chelsea and Avery, his gaze flicked toward Rania, almost imperceptible.

She caught it. Her fork clinked against her plate as she set it down, expression unreadable. “Some walls,” she said quietly, “exist for a reason.”

Her friends blinked, unsure how to respond, but Evan’s smile only deepened. “Maybe. But sometimes, those walls keep us from seeing what’s real. Don’t you think?”

Rania didn’t answer. She simply picked up her glass and took a long sip, eyes sliding back to the window as though he weren’t even there.

The conversation moved on, but Evan’s mind lingered. He could feel the tension in her silence—it wasn’t apathy. It was deliberate. A defense. And he knew, with a certainty that unsettled even him, that the harder she pushed him away, the more he wanted to close the distance.

Obsession wasn’t a word he would use. Not yet. But the shape of it was there, settling into his chest, insistent.

She thinks she can keep me out, he thought, glancing at her once more. She doesn’t realize walls only make me curious about what’s behind them.