Red String

Chapter 2 - Misread Signals

"Maybe. But don't get ahead of yourself," Mica warned. "He's... not exactly the friendly type."

Rose shrugged, a determined smile on her face. Friendly or not, she would make an effort. Small steps, she reminded herself.

Lunch arrived with the familiar chatter and clatter of trays. Rose and her friends claimed their usual table, unpacking sandwiches, fruits, and juice boxes. Adrian groaned over a soggy sandwich, prompting laughter from the group.

Across the room, Clei sat alone in a corner with Evan beside him. His sketchbook lay open, pencil moving methodically. Occasionally, his gaze flicked toward Rose. But she didn't notice his subtle observations. She only saw what she wanted to see: potential interest, hints of acknowledgment.

She waved toward him, smiling brightly. For a brief moment, she imagined a small smile in return.

Nothing.

Her chest sank slightly, though she quickly covered it with a sip of juice. "Okay... maybe next time," she whispered to herself.

Evan nudged Clei lightly. "She waved. Just... wave back. One little wave."

Clei's gaze remained fixed on his sketch. "Not necessary," he muttered. Internally, he thought, I noticed her. That's enough. Don't give it meaning.

Rose returned to her friends, chatting and laughing, but a small seed of doubt had been planted. Was he ignoring her? Or was she misreading everything?

History class moved at a steady pace. Mr. Santos discussed revolutions and reforms, and Rose scribbled notes diligently. Her group assignment for next week's presentation came up, but she barely registered the details. Her mind remained on him.

During a short break, she noticed Clei quietly leaning back in his chair, sketchbook closed, tapping his pencil against his notebook. He wasn't rude. He wasn't mean. But he wasn't engaging either.

Rose bit her lip. Why does he always seem... calm? Focused? How can someone just sit there and observe everything without really talking to anyone?

Evan leaned back in his chair beside him, smirking. "She's... there. You notice her, right?"

Clei didn't answer. He merely nodded slightly, then resumed staring at his page. Not like I care, he thought. I just noticed.

Rose, oblivious to his thoughts, imagined him thinking about her in the same way she was thinking about him. She smiled faintly, lost in the fantasy.

After classes, Rose headed to the library to work on her assignments. She picked a table near the back, noticing that Clei and Evan had already claimed one of the corner tables.

"Hey," she called softly, approaching. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

Clei glanced up briefly. "Suit yourself," he muttered.

Rose took it as a positive sign. He didn't say no! She settled in, spreading out her books.

She noticed him glance toward her occasionally—just a fraction of a second each time. Her heart leapt. He noticed me. He really noticed me.

Evan, however, wasn't fooled. He leaned back and whispered to himself, "Not like that. He's just... aware. Don't read too much into it."

Rose, deep in her own thoughts, didn't hear him. She worked on algebra, mumbling under her breath as she tried to solve a problem. Clei, passing by to put a notebook away, muttered, "You're doing it wrong."

Startled, Rose looked up. "Uh... what do you mean?"

"You're isolating constants too early," he said calmly. "Do it this way instead."

Rose blinked, following his instructions. Slowly, the problem made sense. She looked up, hopeful for a smile or acknowledgment.

Clei had already returned to his work, oblivious to her anticipation.

She sighed softly. Okay... small victories.

As the final bell rang, students flooded the courtyard and exits. Rose walked home with Mica and Janna, recounting her day with animated gestures.

"I swear," she said, "he looked at me today! I know it!"

Mica raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe he just... saw you. Not necessarily looked at you."

Rose waved her off. "No, no, no! Today was different. I could feel it!"

At home, she collapsed onto her bed, strumming her guitar softly. She thought about all the tiny moments: the glance in class, the brief acknowledgment in the library, the way he seemed calm and observant.

"Tomorrow," she whispered to herself, "I'll try again. Small steps."

Meanwhile, across town, Clei leaned back in his chair, sketchbook open. He rubbed the back of his neck, muttering quietly.

She's... persistent. Annoying. Weird. And maybe... okay. But that's it. Don't read too much into it.

He returned to his sketching, unaware that Rose had misread every small sign, creating a tension neither of them fully understood yet.

Tomorrow, however, the dynamics would shift slightly. Small steps, after all, could lead to unexpected crossings.