It had started quietly, almost imperceptibly. At first, I barely noticed him. Adrian Blackwood was always around—part of the crowd, surrounded by people. He was the kind of guy who moved through the world effortlessly, always confident, always with that easy smile that made you feel like he belonged everywhere.

But even then, he noticed me long before I noticed him.

It started with small moments, like catching his eye across the classroom or seeing him glance in my direction in the hallways. I didn’t think much of it. People like Adrian didn’t talk to people like me—the quiet girl who stayed out of sight, always tucked into the corners of rooms, fading into the background.

But one day, he did talk to me.

I was sitting in my usual spot outside during lunch, away from the chaos of the cafeteria. It was a cloudy afternoon, and I liked how the cool air felt on my skin. I was lost in my thoughts, trying to escape the noise in my head, when I saw him approaching. His footsteps were soft on the grass, and I didn’t think he was heading my way until he stopped right in front of me.

“Hey,” Adrian said, his voice low and calm, as if we had spoken a hundred times before. “Mind if I sit?”

I blinked, surprised. He had never spoken to me before, not directly. I wasn’t sure why he wanted to now, but I nodded, unsure of what else to do. “Sure.”

He sat down beside me, not too close but close enough that I felt the shift in the air around us. I could feel him watching me, but he didn’t say much at first. He seemed comfortable, like sitting with me wasn’t strange at all.

“I’ve seen you around,” he said after a while, breaking the silence. “You always sit out here by yourself.”

I shrugged, feeling awkward under his gaze. “I like the quiet.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he replied, nodding slightly. “Sometimes, you need to get away from everything.”

I glanced at him, still trying to figure out what he wanted. Adrian wasn’t like me—he belonged with people, always surrounded by friends. But there was something about the way he sat there, relaxed and unbothered, that made it seem like he didn’t mind being in my quiet space.

We didn’t talk much after that, just sat together in silence until the bell rang. When he got up to leave, he gave me a small, easy smile. “See you around,” he said before walking back toward the school.

I thought that would be the end of it, just a one-time thing. But over the next few days, I noticed him more. He was always there, lingering nearby, sometimes in the cafeteria with his friends, sometimes alone in the hallway between classes. I hadn’t expected him to talk to me again, but he did.

He had a way of slipping into my life quietly, slowly, like he had always belonged there. At first, I didn’t question it. I liked the attention. I liked feeling noticed for once. But now, as I stared at his name on my phone screen, I wasn’t so sure anymore. His texts had become more frequent, more persistent, always asking where I was, what I was doing. If I didn’t reply fast enough, another message would follow.

Where are you?
Why didn’t you text me back?
You could’ve told me you were going to hang out with them.

It wasn’t aggressive, not exactly. But there was an edge to it, a sense of expectation that made me feel like I owed him something. I kept telling myself it was because he cared. He was the only person who seemed to care.

Still, the more I thought about it, the more uneasy I felt. But the alternative—feeling completely alone again—was worse.

I stared at the screen for a moment longer, my thumb hovering over the text icon. I could tell him something was wrong. I could ask him to come over, to take me away from here, if only for a little while.

But as soon as the thought crossed my mind, I pushed it away. I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell anyone. Not about Dad, not about the bruises, not about the nights I spent curled up on the floor, too terrified to sleep.

Instead, I typed something simple.

Hey.

I stared at the message for a moment before pressing send. It felt so meaningless, so small, compared to everything that was happening, but it was all I could manage.

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed with a reply.

Hey. What’s up?

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I didn’t know how to answer that. How was I supposed to explain everything—the suffocating weight, the fear that crept into every corner of my life, the way I felt like I was falling apart? How could I explain any of that when I could barely understand it myself?

Nothing. Just wanted to say hi.

Another lie. Another meaningless message. I bit my lip, frustrated with myself, with the way I couldn’t seem to say anything real. But at least it kept up the illusion that everything was fine. It was easier that way.

A few moments passed before my phone buzzed again.

You sure? You sound off.

I hesitated. I could tell him. I could let it spill out—tell him about Dad, about the bruises, about the nights I spent sitting in the dark, too scared to sleep. Maybe he would understand. Maybe he would help.

But I didn’t.

Yeah, I’m good. Just tired.

I stared at the message for a moment before hitting send. It felt empty, but at least it was an answer.

A few seconds later, another message buzzed through.

If you’re tired, you should rest. But you know you can tell me anything, right? I’m here for you.

I swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in my throat. The words should have been comforting. They were exactly what I wanted to hear—that someone cared, that someone was there for me. But something about them felt heavier than they should have. His presence, once comforting, now seemed to hover over me, constant, expectant.

Thanks. I know.

I typed back, forcing myself to smile even though there was no one to see it.

The conversation drifted after that, shifting into something easier—small talk about school, about nothing important. I let the words blur together as I typed, grateful for the distraction, even if it was temporary. For a little while, I could pretend that I wasn’t trapped, that I wasn’t terrified of what was waiting for me when the door opened again. I could slip into the illusion that everything was okay, that Adrian’s texts were just friendly and not laced with the control I was beginning to feel.

But deep down, I knew it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down again.