Chapter Four
Joshua
Through the glass pane of the hallway window, I froze.
Her lips moved. For the first time, I saw them part, not for me, but for someone else. Words I couldn’t hear, couldn’t steal, falling into someone else’s hands while I stood outside like a fucking stranger.
My jaw tightened. The pen in my grip nearly snapped.
Fuck.
I thought back to that hum on the field, that small, almost careless sound that still tore through me like it was meant for my ears alone. Alex had called her voice soft and gentle. He was wrong. He didn’t describe it properly, vague. Too vague.
It was softer. Softer than words should be allowed to sound.
Softer than I’d imagined in the sleepless nights I’d spent trying to hear her in my head.
She doesn’t even know what she does to me.
I didn’t need her lips to form the words for me. That hum, it was enough. More than enough.
Just a second of sound, soft and unguarded, and now I can carve it into the back of my skull. Replay it until it’s no longer just a hum, until it bends and reshapes into anything I want it to be.
One note gave me a thousand words.
One little sound is a doorway. I pushed through and mapped everything on the other side, her kneeling, the tilt of her head, the way her lips would shape my name if she ever let them.
Alex might have heard enough to ruin me, but he was careless with it. He let the sound fall into a room that meant nothing.
Me? I’d hoard it.
I’d build a cathedral out of that hum and lay my name at its altar, and I’d wait until the day she gave me the real thing.
When that happens, I’ll already know how to keep it.
Know it’s mine.
—
Practice was over, locker room buzzing behind me, but I couldn’t bring myself to step inside. I walked instead, hands shoved in my pockets, trying to look like I wasn’t pacing the campus like a predator.
Hunting. Yeah, that’s what it was, even if I’d never admit it out loud. My eyes dragged over every corner, every bench, every glass-panelled window, searching.
And then, there. Library.
She sat at one of the tables, hunched slightly forward, ruler pressed against the page, pencil dragging neat lines into some kind of grid. Her brows were drawn together in concentration, and her bottom lip caught lightly between her teeth.
For a second, I thought she was avoiding me. Running. Because of course she would; most people did. But no. She was… making a schedule. Actually planning.
The folder from earlier was open, papers stacked with brutal precision. She was doing it seriously, committing herself to it even though she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.
My jaw clenched.
She said she’d start tomorrow, and I didn’t believe her. Thought it was an excuse, a retreat. But now… now she’s carving hours of her life out for me with a goddamn ruler.
I had to stop myself from pushing the door open, from dragging a chair out and sitting across from her, just to watch that pen move across paper.
Just to watch her give me her time.
She had no idea what it did to me, seeing her bend her world to fit into mine.
I stood there too long. Long enough that someone could’ve caught me staring through the glass like a creep. Her pencil moved steadily, the ruler keeping everything precise. She didn’t fidget, didn’t glance up.
Completely unaware that I was eating up every second of it.
I dragged in a breath that felt more like a chokehold and forced myself to step back. Away from the glass, away from her, back down the hallway where the noise of my teammates echoed from the locker room.
Each step was heavier than it needed to be, like my body was protesting, begging me to turn back. But I shoved the door open, slipped inside, and let the humid air of sweat and cologne drag me back into routine.
I peeled myself out of my kit and grabbed my jeans out of my bag. I quickly shoved them on, zipping them up until a voice cut through.
“Cap, there’s a girl looking for you outside.” One of the guys called from across the room.
I chose to ignore it, ignore the girl that was supposedly searching for me, whoever she is.
Another voice came, louder this time. “You should go, she can’t call out. She—uh—can’t speak.”
My head shot up hearing that.
She can’t speak.
There was only one person who came to mind at that moment. And without even thinking, I grabbed my shirt and ran out, looping it over my head, letting it rest around my neck.
Her head was bent over the page, the same schedule she’d been working on earlier. For a second, I thought she hadn’t noticed me at all, then her eyes snapped up and widened when she finally saw me.
She spun on her heel and turned her back to me, like a reflex to hide. I let my gaze drop down the length of her for a beat, then tugged at the collar of my shirt, rolling it down so I didn’t look like I was trying to be seen.
I moved around her slowly, deliberately, until I was standing in front of her again.
“What?” My voice was small, clipped. I finished pulling the shirt into place and crossed my arms, giving her exactly enough attention to make the space between us electric.
She blinked, fingers fumbling in her folder. Then she pulled out a clean sheet and showed it to me. I watched her closely as she held it up; her hands trembled a fraction, but the lines on the page were neat, deliberate. The schedule she’d made, boxes drawn with ruler-perfect precision.
I cocked an eyebrow, trying to parse what she wanted me to do. She tapped an empty box with her pen, so I decided to just guess. “You want me to fill it in with my schedule?”
Her eyes brightened when I understood. She nodded like a child, surprised and happy that I’d caught the signal.
Her and those nods. Always timid, always pathetic, like she was rationing out the smallest scraps of acknowledgement. They annoyed the hell out of me, but I never said a word because at least it was something.
At least it was mine.
But this time, this wasn’t one of those weak, scared little dips of her chin. She nodded more than once, big and sure, like she wasn’t afraid of me at all. Like she could finally let her guard down.
It was odd. Wrong, even. But I’d take it. I’d take whatever she was willing to give me, so long as it was only for me.
“I’m busy,” I said flatly, stretching my hand out, palm open. “Give me your phone. I’ll text it to you.”
She hesitated before sliding it into my hand, and in that moment, our fingers brushed, barely, but enough. A spark, sharp and unwanted, shot straight through me.
My jaw clenched. I told myself it was nothing, just skin against skin, but fuck if it didn’t make me want more.
I tapped on the screen. Locked. Before I could scoff, she stepped closer—so close her shoulder brushed mine—and tilted her face toward the screen.
The phone unlocked instantly, her features glowing in the reflection. I didn’t look at the phone. Not once.
I looked at her. At the glow on her skin from the screen, at the way her lashes cast shadows, at the shape of her lips parting just slightly in focus.
Fuck. Her lips.
The same lips I’d been dying to hear move, to shape my name, to curse me, to beg.
I caught myself staring, caught the way heat slammed into my chest, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
She was too close, and my mind was already painting the image I wanted most… those lips moving for me, only me.
I swallowed down the urge to lean in further, to close the gap, to see what sound she’d make if she realised how badly I wanted to taste her this close.
My lips curved before I could stop them. “Brave,” I muttered, low.
Her head snapped toward me, startled. Good. She should be startled. She should remember who she’s standing this close to. Because I’m not harmless, and she damn well knows it.
But she didn’t step back. Not this time. Her throat bobbed, her gaze flicked down, but her feet stayed planted right there in front of me, like she’d forgotten I’m the same person who made her life hell.
And maybe that’s what fucked me up the most.
I typed my number into her phone, saved it under my name, and let the device rest on top of her folder. No explanation. No instructions. Just mine now.
Straightening up, I turned to leave. “Text me for it,” I threw over my shoulder, casual as if I wasn’t already anticipating it. “Say please, and maybe you’ll get it. I’m a busy man.”
I didn’t look back, but I didn’t need to. The way her silence pressed heavily behind me was enough.
She’d do it. I knew she would.
And when that single word hit my phone, it wouldn’t matter if it was written or spoken; it’d be hers. Directed at me. And that’s all I fucking wanted.
I headed back inside the locker room to grab my bag and head out to meet Alex, since we didn’t have any classes left today. He was planning on crashing at mine, which was nothing new. Clingy.
Bag slung over my shoulder, phone in hand, I stepped out of the locker room. A couple of teammates called out goodbyes, but I barely nodded back. My eyes scanned where she had been standing earlier, only to find the space empty.
She was gone.
Then—
Ping.
I unlocked my phone, thumb hovering as an unknown number lit up my screen for the first time. But I knew it was her.
Unknown: Can you send me your timetable?
My lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite not. I stared at it longer than I should’ve, watching the little black letters burn into my retinas.
Then another notification slid in beneath it.
Unknown: Please.
Fuck. There it was.
That word.
From her.
Directed at me.
Even if it was typed, even if it was short, it was mine.
My jaw flexed as I sank against the wall, staring at the glowing screen like it had just handed me the fucking universe.
Me: Only my soccer one?
Unknown: The whole thing, please.
I nearly dropped my phone.
Please. Again.
So free this time, so casual, like it didn’t mean anything. Like she wasn’t burning me alive with it.
My throat tightened as I typed back.
Me: For?
Seconds later, her reply came.
Unknown: So I know when not to disturb you.
I dragged a hand down my face, swallowing a curse. She thought she disturbed me? Fucking wrong. I’d leave a lecture, a meeting, even practice mid-drill, if it meant I got to see her, hear her, anything. And yet she thought she was a nuisance.
Pathetic. Wrong. And still, I screenshotted my entire timetable and hit send before I could stop myself.
A beat later:
Unknown: Thank you.
I squeezed the phone so tight my knuckles went white. God, she was wrecking me without even trying, without even knowing.
Why the fuck didn’t I ask for her number sooner? Why did I waste a year? I wondered if anyone else had ever asked for her number before me. The thought made something sharp twist in my chest.
I’d never admit it out loud—hell, I’d choke on the words if anyone heard me—but she’s gorgeous.
Hate to say it, but it’s true. That face of hers makes up for any flaw a woman could have. Too quiet, too timid, whatever, none of it matters when she’s standing there. It erases everything, like the world takes a breath and holds it for her.
Other men would see her and fall over themselves.
She thought no one noticed her, but she didn’t see the shit I saw with these men around her.
The heads she turned, the stares piercing her every time she walked down the hall, whispers about her physique, the whole lot.
They just didn’t try because the ‘mute’ girl was hard work to get with, not worth it.
She never seemed to notice them, but I did. And I hated it.
She never talked, and I’d always owned that silence. Where other people saw weakness, I saw something private and valuable, an unclaimed space I could step into any time I want.
She didn’t owe anyone noise. She didn’t owe anyone performance. And because she was quiet, she was mine in a way loud women never are.
Maybe that was the sick part, I celebrated her silence the way other men celebrated a trophy.
I didn’t resent it.
I didn’t push.
I let it be because it kept the rest of the world from touching her. Who would go for a girl who didn’t speak? Right? She was only good for the eye.
So for now, she was mine.
For now, not meaning until someone else came to take her from me, but until she realised that someone already claimed the spot beside her. Then, everything would finally fall into place.
Let them look. Let them fantasise. But anyone who tries to take her will learn the hard way that some things aren’t worth living for.