I'm Not Like Them

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

When Rania scribbled her last answer, she dropped the pen neatly on top of the questionnaire and slid the papers back across the table. Without a word, she reached for her laptop again, the faint clack of the keyboard quickly filling the silence.

Evan collected the sheets, his fingers brushing the edges with the kind of care one might give to something fragile, almost intimate. He skimmed through her responses, his mouth curving slightly. "We'll continue tomorrow," he said at last, his tone calm, but with that faint undercurrent of fascination. "These answers-they say more than you think."

Rania didn't look up, though her ears tilted toward him.

He leaned back, speaking as though he were reading her reflection aloud: "Your strengths-reflective self-awareness. That strong ability to turn inward, to analyze your own thoughts and feelings—it gives you maturity, clarity. And inner courage. You don't shy away from the difficult truths, even when they're painful. That's rare."

Her typing slowed, but she kept her gaze on the glow of her screen.

"And your weaknesses," Evan continued, his eyes flicking briefly toward her. "Discomfort with self-promotion. You find it awkward to show others what you've accomplished, to step forward when recognition requires it. It's not incompetence—it's restraint. But sometimes, restraint hides too much."

The words hung between them.

Rania exhaled quietly through her nose, not interrupting, but her chest felt tight, as though each observation pressed harder against something she refused to name.

"You know," Evan said more softly, almost like a confession, "you're smart-sharper than most. I'm not telling you this to box you in or disappoint you with a label. I want you to see what I see. What you're capable of. What potential is waiting if you allow yourself to claim it. What kind of place you can carve in this world."

For a moment, Rania's fingers stilled over her keyboard. She pressed her lips together, staring at the unfinished sentence glowing on her screen.

But she said nothing.

Evan took the silence as his answer. He stacked his notes neatly, slipping them back into his leather case. "Alright," he said quietly, rising from the sofa. "I won't bother you anymore tonight." He paused, glancing once more in her direction. "But don't push yourself too hard. Stay up too late, and you'll pay for it. You look healthy—but even the strongest wear down when they forget their limits."

Rania's voice cut through, colder than the air. "I know what I'm doing, Mr. Laurent." She still didn't look at him. "You can leave now."

Something unreadable flickered across Evan's face. He gave a slow nod, closed the case, and moved to the door. The latch clicked softly, and then the silence swallowed the room whole.

Only then did Rania lift her head. She slid her glasses off, pinching the bridge of her nose as a heaviness spread through her chest, sharp and sudden, as though something were lodged in her throat. Breathing felt strange—constricted.

With a short, frustrated motion, she snapped her laptop shut. The sound cracked against the quiet, jarring even to her own ears. She stood, crossing to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a cold bottle of water. She drank deeply, the coolness sliding down her throat but doing little to ease the weight pressing inside her.

Her reflection caught faintly in the dark window above the sink, her face pale, eyes shadowed.

"I don't need to be close to you to know who you really are, Evangelos Laurent," she whispered, her voice low but steady, as though speaking it aloud made it true. "You're hiding something. I can feel it. And whatever it is... I'll be the one to uncover it."