I'm Not Like Them

Chapter 10

Once Brody turned away, Evan exhaled softly, a thought gnawing at him. Why would anyone be compiling notes on his students? And why Rania, of all people?

He didn’t have answers, and he certainly didn’t have proof. But the unease settled deep in his chest, a weight he couldn’t ignore. Something was happening behind the surface, something that touched Rania in ways he wasn’t yet allowed to see.

Evan slipped out of the office, careful to leave no trace of the incident. Yet even as he walked down the quiet corridor, his mind replayed the image: Rania’s name in neat handwriting, the photograph, the note.

A part of him wanted to push the thought aside—focus on lectures, students, normality—but another, more insistent part whispered: This is bigger than it seems. And Rania… she’s at the center of it.

The afternoon light had begun to dim by the time Rania stepped out of the library, her books stacked neatly in her arms. She had intended to head straight back to her next class, but Gil Brody was waiting near the courtyard fountain, his frame outlined against the waning sun. His posture was relaxed, yet there was something deliberate in the way his eyes found hers almost immediately.

“Miss Veyra,” he greeted, his tone mild but laced with a weight she couldn’t quite place. “Do you have a moment?”

Rania stopped, narrowing her gaze slightly. “For what reason?”

“Academics,” he said smoothly, though his smile didn’t quite match the ease of his voice. “Your performance in class is consistent, but your essays… they suggest a depth of understanding beyond what you submit. I wanted to encourage you—don’t hold back. Write as though you aren’t afraid of being seen.”

Her grip on her books tightened. The comment landed oddly, like a stone dropped in still water, ripples spreading in directions she hadn’t expected. She inclined her head politely, her expression unreadable. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

For a heartbeat, Brody’s eyes lingered—searching, assessing, as if her response was another line in some private notebook. Then he nodded once, dismissing her with a faint smile. “Good. That’s all.”

He left her there, standing stiffly under the fading light.

From across the courtyard, Evan had seen the exchange. He hadn’t heard the words, but the image was enough—Brody leaning close, Rania stiff and cautious, their conversation short but strangely charged. His chest tightened with an unfamiliar weight: curiosity knotted with unease, tangled with something darker. What could Brody possibly want from her?

By the time he realized he was staring too long, Rania was already walking away.

***

That evening, the apartment building was alive with the faint hum of voices and clattering doors. Evan had just dropped his keys onto the small dish near his door when laughter spilled faintly through the hallway—Avery and Chelsea’s bright chatter, rising above the muted evening quiet. He caught fragments of their words, teasing, careless, but Rania’s voice was absent. The absence nagged at him like a missing note in a melody.

Impulsively, he stepped back into the hall just as the three rounded the corner. Avery’s grin widened the moment she spotted him. “Oh, hello, Mr. Professor,” she teased, her tone playful, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Evan’s polite smile barely reached his eyes. His gaze, sharp and immediate, locked onto Rania. “Miss Veyra, I need to talk to you.”

Avery and Chelsea slowed, exchanging a quick look between themselves. Rania, however, didn’t stop walking. Her brow arched ever so slightly as she met his stare. Silence stretched a beat too long before she spoke, her voice even and dismissive. “If you have something to say, Professor, say it. I have lectures and assignments to do. That’s more important than you.”

“Damn, Rania,” Chelsea whispered under her breath, half impressed, half startled.

Avery gave a small shake of her head, lips curling into a grin. “Well, if it’s about a Psychology thing, then we’re out of it.” She looped her arm through Chelsea’s, steering her toward their apartment. “Let’s go, Chels. It’s their moment as professor and student.”

Their laughter echoed lightly as they disappeared down the hallway, the sound fading as the door to their unit clicked shut. The corridor grew still, the space between Evan and Rania charged with a tension that felt both brittle and dangerous. She stood rooted in place, one eyebrow raised, as though daring him to waste her time.

Evan drew a breath, steady but laced with an intensity he couldn’t mask. Whatever words he chose next, he knew, would only tighten the fragile thread stretched between them.

Evan’s gaze didn’t waver. “I wanted to tell you something,” he began, his tone measured, softer than the sharp exchanges they usually shared. “In class—you stand out, Rania. The way you engage with the material, even when you stay silent… it’s rare. Your assignments, your performance… you’re surpassing expectations. At this rate, your chances of graduating with high honors are strong.”

Rania shifted her weight, expression unreadable. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to say thank you?”

His lips curved faintly, but his eyes stayed fixed on hers. “It’s not about gratitude. It’s about recognizing talent when I see it. You’re… different. Brilliant, even. But brilliance leaves questions.” He tilted his head, his voice lowering, more intent. “What was your high school like? Your earlier years? Did you always live here in Las Vegas, or…?”

She tensed. “That’s not your concern.”

But the refusal didn’t shake him. He leaned slightly closer, his voice steady, almost coaxing. “You guard your past like it’s a locked vault. Yet talent like yours—it doesn’t appear from nowhere. There’s a story behind it. And I—” He stopped, catching the flicker of steel in her gaze, then reined himself in. “I only want to understand.”

For a moment, silence pressed between them, heavy and taut. Inside her mind, thoughts twisted—memories she refused to touch, shadows she couldn’t bring into the light. She had told Avery and Chelsea a few fragments of her life, small harmless stories stitched together like fabric scraps. But the whole tapestry—what she had endured, what she carried—remained buried.

Evan’s voice softened further, carrying an edge of something that felt almost like concern. “I’m not just your professor, Miss Veyra. You already know who I am. If you ever need someone to talk to, don’t be shy to come to me.”

Rania raised a brow, her tone sharp but quiet. “Like what? That I’m also among the students you’re evaluating for psychological issues?” Her eyes narrowed, cold and cutting. “Tell me, Mr. Laurent—what do you see psychologically in me? Because I don’t need your assessment.”

The words hit like ice. She stepped forward, ready to move past him, but his hand shot out instinctively, catching her wrist.

The contact was brief—too brief—but enough to send a jolt through the space between them. Rania turned swiftly, her glare sharp enough to pierce. Evan released her immediately, palms open in a gesture of apology. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice tight, almost strained. “I didn’t mean—” He drew a breath, steadied himself. “Look, I… I didn’t mean anything bad by that. But you have nothing to lose if you try. This isn’t for me. It’s for you. To discover something about yourself.”

Rania didn’t reply. She didn’t look him directly in the eye, but her silence wasn’t dismissal either. It was thought. Calculation. Deep inside, where her defenses were thickest, she knew the truth in his words: she wanted to know herself, to piece together the fragments of who she was and why she carried so many walls.

But wanting wasn’t the same as trusting.

Her gaze flicked away, her footsteps resuming as if the conversation hadn’t happened. Yet her mind, her chest, carried the weight of his words long after she disappeared into the dim hallway.

And Evan, left behind in the quiet corridor, stood motionless. His hand still tingled faintly from the ghost of her touch, his thoughts spiraling tighter around the girl who refused to let him in. “Discover something about yourself,” he whispered to the empty air, repeating his own plea.

But in truth, it wasn’t only discovery he wanted for her—it was possession.