I'm Not Like Them

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

The campus was quieter than usual that afternoon, the sun slanting low over the concrete walkways, casting long, stretching shadows across the lawns. Students filtered past in small clusters, their chatter a soft backdrop to the rhythmic thrum of Rania’s sneakers on the tiled path. She had been trying to focus on her assignments, but the lingering unease from the previous encounters with Evan gnawed at the edge of her mind.

Her backpack felt heavier than usual—not from books alone.

She spotted the Psychology building ahead and quickened her pace, pretending not to notice the figure standing near the entrance. Evan. Of course. His posture was casual, but she could sense the deliberate steadiness in the way he held himself, like a man who measured every movement, every glance.

Rania kept her gaze forward, fingers tightening around the straps of her bag.

“Rania,” Evan called softly, not a command, not an intrusion—just a name, spoken carefully, almost cautiously.

She slowed, but didn’t look at him.

“I thought… maybe you’d want a hand with those notes from today’s lecture,” he said, his voice smooth, careful. He gestured toward a stack of papers in his hand, neat, organized. “Or… just someone to review the material with.”

She didn’t answer immediately. Her silence stretched long enough for a few passing students to glance between them, curiosity flickering like candlelight. Rania’s jaw tightened. “I’m fine,” she said finally, clipped, turning her attention back to the building.

Evan didn’t move. He let the pause hang, then nodded as though respecting the barrier she had drawn. “Alright,” he said, softer this time, “but if you change your mind…”

She didn’t.

The faculty office smelled faintly of old paper and polished wood. Sunlight slanted through the blinds, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. Evan Laurent stepped inside, scanning the shelves for reference books he needed for tomorrow’s lecture, his mind still lingering on Rania’s cold glare earlier in the library.

He moved carefully around the clustered stacks of papers on Prof. Gil Brody’s desk, intending not to disturb anything. Then a folder shifted—just slightly—tipping over the edge. A few loose sheets fluttered to the floor.

Evan bent down reflexively, catching one before it slipped further. His eyes caught the header: Rania Isolde Veyra. A photograph fell partially out of the folder, along with a note scribbled in neat, almost clinical handwriting: “Watch for signs — reserved but calculating.”

His pulse ticked faster. He hesitated, the sheet trembling slightly in his fingers. He didn’t search for it. He hadn’t even known it was there. Yet suddenly, questions crowded his mind: Why would Brody—or anyone—be keeping notes on a student? Why Rania?

A shadow loomed over him. Evan straightened instinctively as Brody appeared at the doorway, a calm, easy smile playing on his lips. He didn’t say a word about the folder, just stepped in, gathering the scattered sheets with practiced ease. “Looking for something, Laurent?” Brody’s tone was casual, bordering on inquisitive.

“Uh… just some references,” Evan muttered, setting the folder aside carefully. He didn’t meet Brody’s gaze directly, feeling an odd tension coil in the office like static before a storm.

Brody’s eyes lingered on the folder on the desk for a brief moment—just long enough for Evan to notice the slight raise of an eyebrow—but he didn’t comment. Instead, he stacked the papers neatly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.