The Way He Watches Me
Lia started noticing Adrian everywhere.
Not physically.
That would've been easier to explain.
Instead—
she noticed him in habits now.
In routines.
In the strange spaces he'd quietly occupied inside her life without asking permission.
Like checking her phone before bed.
Like expecting messages during lectures.
Like unconsciously looking for a black car whenever it rained.
It was subtle.
Dangerous precisely because it felt natural.
And maybe that was the worst part.
—
Saturday evening settled softly across the city.
Rain streaked down apartment windows while warm yellow lights glowed through neighboring buildings.
Lia sat cross-legged on her bed trying to annotate literature notes while an old playlist hummed quietly through cheap speakers.
The apartment felt unusually peaceful tonight.
No gossip.
No crowded university halls.
No Adrian standing too close and saying emotionally devastating things in calm voices.
Just quiet.
For once.
Her phone buzzed.
Lia's pulse betrayed her instantly.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
Message:
Adrian: What are you listening to?
She stared at the message immediately.
Then slowly looked toward the window.
Closed curtains.
No visible black car.
Still—
her heartbeat sped up.
Message:
Lia: Are you secretly outside my apartment again?
Adrian: No.
Lia: Then how do you know I'm listening to music?
Adrian: You only stay awake this late when you can't sleep.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
Because he was right.
Again.
Message:
Lia: You notice terrifying things.
Adrian: You repeat that often.
Lia: Because you keep earning it.
Three dots appeared instantly.
Message:
Adrian: You're calmer tonight.
Lia leaned back slowly against the headboard.
The rain outside softened into a quiet rhythm against the windows.
Message:
Lia: How would you know that through text?
Adrian: Your replies are slower.
Lia: That should not mean anything.
Adrian: It does with you.
Warmth crept slowly beneath her ribs.
Dangerous warmth.
The kind she kept trying not to acknowledge.
Because Adrian paid attention in ways nobody else ever had.
Not surface-level things.
Everything deeper.
The spaces people usually missed.
Her phone buzzed again.
Message:
Adrian: Did you draw tonight?
Lia froze slightly.
Her eyes drifted automatically toward the sketchbook resting beside her pillow.
Closed.
Untouched.
But there.
She swallowed carefully before typing.
Message:
Lia: No.
Adrian: Why not?
Lia: I haven't wanted to in a long time.
Adrian: That isn't true.
Her brows pulled together.
Message:
Lia: You sound very confident.
Adrian: You looked at the pencils three times while studying.
Silence.
Complete silence.
Lia physically stared at the screen in disbelief.
Then immediately typed...
Message:
Lia: HOW WOULD YOU KNOW THAT?
Adrian: You moved your camera during our call yesterday.
Her heartbeat stumbled hard.
Yesterday's video call.
She'd forgotten.
It only lasted fifteen minutes while Adrian finished paperwork in his office and silently insisted she stop studying at 2 AM.
And somehow—
he'd noticed pencils sitting in the background.
Lia pressed both hands over her face slowly.
"This man is clinically insane," she whispered to herself.
Her phone buzzed again.
Message:
Adrian: Probably.
She accidentally laughed.
Actually laughed.
Because somehow Adrian admitting things so calmly remained impossible to get used to.
Another message appeared.
Message:
Adrian: Draw something for me.
Lia: That sounded manipulative.
Adrian: Was it effective?
Lia stared at the screen.
Then at the sketchbook beside her.
Then back again.
God.
He really did know her too well already.
Reluctantly, she reached for the sketchbook.
Dust clung faintly to the edges from disuse.
The familiar weight settled strangely in her hands.
Like muscle memory.
Like something she'd abandoned quietly returning all at once.
Her pencil hovered uncertainly above blank paper.
Then—
without thinking too hard—
she started drawing.
Lines came easier than expected.
Soft pencil strokes shaping shadows and sharp features instinctively.
Dark eyes.
Controlled expression.
Hands always steady.
Adrian.
Of course it became Adrian.
Lia didn't even realize how much time passed until her phone buzzed again.
Message:
Adrian: You disappeared.
Lia: I was drawing.
Adrian: Me?
Her breath caught immediately.
Message:
Lia: That was arrogant.
Adrian: Was I wrong?
Silence.
Because unfortunately—
no.
Lia looked down at the unfinished sketch resting in her lap.
The lines already looked too careful.
Too studied.
Exactly like the way Adrian drew her.
That realization settled strangely in her chest.
Message:
Lia: Maybe.
Adrian: Send me a picture.
Her pulse jumped instantly.
Message:
Lia: Absolutely not.
Adrian: Why?
Lia: Because it's unfinished.
Adrian: I'd still want it.
The words hit harder than they should have.
Not because of the drawing.
Because Adrian always sounded sincere about wanting parts of her nobody else noticed.
Even unfinished ones.
Lia stared quietly at the sketch for a long moment.
Then finally—
before she could overthink herself out of it—
she took a picture and sent it.
Silence followed.
Long enough to make her nervous.
Then her phone buzzed.
Message:
Adrian: Beautiful.
Her chest tightened immediately.
Message:
Lia: It's literally unfinished.
Adrian: I wasn't talking about the drawing.
Lia forgot how breathing worked for a full second.
Rain echoed softly outside while heat rushed slowly into her face.
Because Adrian didn't flirt like normal people.
He said things quietly.
Honestly.
Like he meant every word enough to ruin her with it.
Her phone buzzed one final time.
Message:
Adrian: Keep drawing.
Lia: Why?
Adrian: Because I like the version of you that forgets the world exists while creating something.
Lia stared at the message for a very long time afterward.
Because maybe nobody had ever looked at her closely enough to love the quiet parts before.
But Adrian did.
Adrian watched everything.