Page 69 of When The Night Falls

Indeed, the beginning of love is very much a hunt – thrilling, rapacious, and utterly instinctual. All at once, the brain and the body have turned toward one person, the senses have sharpened to perceive even the slightest sign of their existence.

However, when falling in love, you never recognise it at the very moment it happens. In retrospect, it’s easy to identify the moment which triggered the realisation, but one cannot recognise it in the exact moment when love first begins to manifest. Because of that, I was entirely unaware of just how profound my feelings were on the verge of becoming. In fact, as I glanced at Cara across the gym, I thought all I was guilty of was fleeting interest or a rude curiosity that was based on primitive, reproductive urges.

I hadn’t realised that the process had begun, that with each second that ticked by, I was gradually losing myself in her, that my sense of self was slowly waning to create room for her, in favour of her. Instead, I was under the impression that I was mainly looking to sway her mind to repair my bruised ego. I was bitter that she hadn’t found my offer sufficient enough, bitter that she had been able to remain sensible despite my ardent efforts to stir romanticisms in her, and I was bitter that she didn’t seem as preoccupied with me as I was with her.

I simply hadn’t grasped that how I reacted to her soft voice delivering sharp remarks was a sign of love manifesting, that her seductive eyes and the total fire they contained had instead lured me into their heat; nor did I, at the time, fathom the reason why I would gladly have made a fool of myself merely for the chance to hear her laugh.

Oblivious to the truth, I mistook genuine affection for an injured ego and assumed it was only my vanity that urged me to change her mind. I had no idea that it was the prelude to love. I was convinced that if I managed to change her verdict about us, I would finally be able to exorcise her constant presence in my thoughts. I was aware it was a cynical motivation, but to spare my sanity, I considered it a necessary evil.

However, I was still contemplating which route to take in order to achieve my goal. Thus far, I had settled on the tactic of trying to befriend my foe, because if I did, I could perhaps locate her weakness and eventually exploit it.

The trouble was that I had never encountered an enemy quite so strong before. She seemed impossible to read, like she existed in a language entirely foreign to me. There was a mystery to her, like the suspense of a tale I had never heard before and couldn’t predict the end of.

She was whole all on her own, and frankly, I admired her for that. She didn’t need anyone but herself, much less me. She wore her independence like armour, and it protected her to a fault. So then, how does one defeat an enemy boasting such a brilliant defence?

The Trojan way, I supposed. I would have to trick her into letting me past her walls, and once inside, I would make them crumble one by one until only she remained. Then, at last, my mind would be free of her – my ego restored.

Perhaps the extent of my determination should have encouraged me to suspect that something about my fascination with her was beyond the ordinary; had I truly not cared for her, then her rejection wouldn’t have injured me as badly as it had.

But I didn’t suspect. Instead, I had gone blind and was desperately groping in the dark.

After a final pull-up, I released the bar and landed on my feet. I glanced over my shoulder, but I was far from the only one to look in her direction. Jason hadn’t lied: she was indeed a magnet for attention. Had she been mine I might have enjoyed it, but she wasn’t.

While I knew she was perfectly capable of managing on her own, their hungry gazes still irritated me. From the little I had learned about her thus far, I was certain this was a far cry from the attention she appreciated. Why else would she feel the need to cover up her derrière with that oversized black jumper whenever she did squats?

I also inferred a dimension of disrespect from their ogling. Her jumper might as well have been a sign begging her admirers to look away, yet they all turned a blind eye to it and objectified her anyway.

I found their behaviour repulsive and uncivilised, and it summoned a strange urge to protect her from their sexualising stares, so without further thought, I grabbed my bag and bottle of chalk and approached her. I hoped my presence by her side would intimidate at least some of the men to look away. Their eyes would avert for the wrong reason, but at least she would be spared from their ogling for now.

‘Eighty kilos – not bad,’ I said.

‘Just finished my last set,’ she replied breathily, and I had to smile at the sight of her flushed face and damp skin. It all looked so familiar.

‘So you won’t be needing the rack?’

‘No.’ She wiped her forehead with her arm. ‘Dumbbell rows next.’

‘I’ll take over this, then. Deadlifts.’

‘I’ll help you remove the plates.’

‘You can leave two of them on.’

After giving her a nod of gratitude, I wondered what to say. It had been obvious from the moment she arrived with Jason that she was here to train, not chat. It was also plausible that she was deliberately trying to avoid me, but that didn’t align with my goal, so I had to stall her somehow.

‘Did you finish assembling your furniture on Friday?’ In my hurry, it was the only thing I had thought to say, but after hearing it, I wished I had remained quiet instead. What a dry start to a conversation. I hoped she wouldn’t think me boring for that.

‘My desk? Yes, I did.’ She tilted her head and smiled, and the view was enchanting. ‘Thanks for helping me out.’

‘Anytime. So your wardrobe still hasn’t collapsed, I take it?’

She chuckled as she pulled a plate off the barbell. ‘Not yet. Did you have fun with Violet?’

Her bold question took me aback. Unsure of where to look, I gazed around and noticed that Jason was watching us from the bench press area. When I recovered from the surprise, I turned my attention back to her and scoured her features for any sign of resentment, but I discovered nothing. She looked perfectly unfazed.

I sensed my bitterness beginning to fester. It was obvious that I had meant nothing to her at all, and that I would be flattering myself if I assumed anything else. There wasn’t a spark of envy in her, not a fragment of jealousy.

‘Not quite as much fun as I would have had if she’d been you,’ I shamelessly confessed, because I hoped to provoke a reaction from her.

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