I'm Not Like Them

Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

The corridor was unusually quiet that afternoon, the hum of the fluorescent lights faint against the soft shuffle of footsteps. Evan adjusted the strap of his sling bag, still half lost in thought about the classes he had to handle that day, when a familiar voice—calm, yet edged with frost—cut through the silence.

“Evan.”

He turned.

Rania stood a few feet away, her expression unreadable as always, but there was something different in her eyes—something that looked less like anger and more like determination. “I need to talk to you,” she said.

Evan hesitated, searching her face for a clue, but all he found was that same quiet tension that always lingered between them. He nodded once. “Come in.”

Inside his unit, the air was cool, faintly scented with coffee and paper. The room was neat, minimalist—almost too clean—but the desk near the window was cluttered with folders, printed reports, and handwritten notes.

Rania’s gaze lingered on that desk as soon as she entered. She didn’t sit down. Her eyes scanned the space—the shelves lined with psychology books, the corkboard pinned with assessment schedules, a half-finished cup of coffee beside a pile of student files.

While Evan excused himself to the bathroom, Rania quietly walked toward the desk.

Her fingers brushed against the edges of the papers, her pulse steady but her thoughts restless. There must be something here, she told herself. Something that explained why he always seemed to look at her like he knew more than he was supposed to.

But when she skimmed through the folders, all she found were assessment charts, diagnostic forms, and references—nothing suspicious, nothing personal. Just the disciplined chaos of a psychologist’s workspace.

Her shoulders dropped, disappointment flickering in her eyes. So, he really is just… doing his job. Then she heard the faint click of the bathroom door. Evan stepped out, drying his hands with a small towel. “You didn’t sit down,” he said quietly, half a smile playing on his lips.

Rania didn’t answer. She kept her back turned, her gaze fixed on the files. For a long moment, silence hung between them, heavy and unmoving. Finally, she sighed. “I know you lied.”

Evan froze.

Rania’s tone was cold, deliberate—like she’d been waiting to say those words. “I know you slept in my room last night. I know everything, Evan. You can never hide that from me.”

The towel slipped from his hand. For a moment, he couldn’t find his voice. “I’m sorry about that,” he said, his tone low, almost pleading. “I know you’d be angry if I told you the truth. I didn’t mean to cross any line, I just—”

“I’m not here for your apology,” Rania interrupted, her voice slicing through his words. She turned to face him, and for the first time, her composure wavered—not from anger, but from something quieter, something fragile. Her eyes fell to his chest. “…I’m here for that necklace.”

Evan instinctively reached for it—the silver chain glinting faintly against his shirt. “Do you want it? I can give it to you if you want—”

“I don’t want it.” Her tone was sharp, almost trembling. “I want to know who it came from.”

Evan’s breath hitched. For a moment, neither of them moved. The tension that filled the room was no longer awkward—it was heavy, alive, pulsing with unspoken things.

He looked at her then—really looked—and saw that same flicker of something familiar in her eyes. The same look she’d had the night she drank too much and whispered through tears, Why is this happening to me?