I'm Not Like Them

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

“Avoiding them isn’t a solution to put you at ease, Rania.” His tone was low, deliberate, a shadow stretched across the hallway. She froze, fingers grazing the strap of her bag, before turning halfway to him. He was leaning casually against the wall, but his gaze was anything but casual.

“If they’ve accepted me as a true friend,” he continued softly, “I would hope the same could be said for you.”

Rania’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about, Mr. Laurent?”

“I know on campus I’m your professor,” he said with a weary half-smile. “And I know you still hate me. But… you can’t stop Avery and Chelsea. Don’t be too controlling with them—they just want to—”

Her gaze cut through him, cold as steel. “Controlling?” The word lingered like frost in the corridor. He faltered. “I’m not controlling them,” she said, her voice clipped and steady. “I’m protecting them. Because they’re like sisters to me. Protecting them from men like you. Men who wander around with secrets they refuse to name.”

Evan straightened, color draining from his face. “What secrets?”

She didn’t blink. “When you moved in—when you were hauling your boxes—I saw something. A folder. Student information. Medical and psychological records.” She took a step closer, her eyes unflinching. “What are those, Mr. Laurent?”

For the first time, he looked away, his jaw tightening before he exhaled slowly and forced his gaze back to hers. “You know who I am, Rania,” he said, his voice carefully measured. “It’s part of my profession. I’m a psychologist. People come to me for help, and sometimes that means I keep records, assessments, evaluations. That’s what you saw.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Of course, those folders matter,” he went on quickly, his words gathering momentum. “Three students at the university—I’ve been assessing them. Their parents requested it. But I’ve already referred them to a psychiatrist I trust. Those files were meant to be delivered, not kept. I promise you—”

“You don’t need to explain the basics of your job to me.” Her interruption was sharp but calm, a scalpel rather than a hammer. “I’m not stupid. My question was simple: why here? Why separated? Why only those three folders?”

The hallway was still, the only sound the distant murmur of Avery and Chelsea’s voices from inside the apartment.

Evan’s smile faltered but didn’t disappear; it clung to his face like something practiced. “Because that’s where they needed to be. I was finishing my work on them. That’s the truth.”

He shifted, stepping subtly closer. His tone dropped, intimate, pleading. “You don’t have to doubt me, Rania. My intentions are good—for your friends, and even for you. If there’s anything else you question, just ask me. I’ll answer. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. Always.”

Her eyes, cool and steady, cut through his words. “I don’t need you.” With that, she turned, the sharp swing of her hair and the finality of her step closing the distance between them. The door opened and shut behind her, swallowing her into safety.

Evan stood alone in the hallway, staring at the blank wood of the door. His fingers curled at his sides, the mask of his smile dissolving, leaving only the flicker of something darker in his eyes.

The door shut in his face with a soft click, but it echoed in his chest like a slammed gate.

Evan lingered in the hallway, staring at the blank wood as though it might splinter open if he willed it hard enough. His breath pressed heavy against the silence, and for the first time all evening, the smile he wore slipped away entirely. “Why are you like this, Rania?” he whispered, the words barely audible, almost a prayer, almost a curse.