Page 22 of His To Unravel
I know you’ve got a lot on your plate. Don’t overwork yourself.
Are you doing all right? You’ve been quieter than usual.
Each message feels like a gentle knock on a door I can’t bring myself to open. Still, he waits on the other side. Persistent.
NATHANIEL
Olivia, you don’t need to carry it all alone, you know.
Let me know if you need a break. I mean it.
They aren’t outright demands, but the invitation is clear. He wants me to let him in, to get closer, when all I want is to pull back. I don’t know how to respond without breaking the wall I’ve built, so I’ve left most of them unanswered.
Yet, every time my phone buzzes, there’s a familiar tug, a sparkof something within me. I stare at his name, hesitate, then close the screen before I type anything impulsive.
Eventually, he tries a different angle—logical, expected.
NATHANIEL
We should meet soon to go over the latest section. Let me know when you’re available this week.
It’s a fair request. Sensible. But instead of agreeing, I tell him I need to stay laser-focused and will just share my notes with him online.
I’ve mastered the art of restraint, but each dismissed message leaves an emptiness that grows sharper, colder. It isn’t just the absence of Nathaniel’s presence that leaves me hollow; it’s the absence of how he makes mefeel.
Eventually, the texts come with an insistence that’s impossible to ignore:
NATHANIEL
We can work around your schedule, but I’m here when you’re ready to talk, Olivia.
I shut my phone off then, unable to confront the quiet comfort in his words.
His kindness feels almost like a threat—probing at the part of me that wants to lean into that comfort. To believe him. To say,yes. Please.
But I don’t. I can’t. Letting him in would make it harder to keep my balance, and I’m already walking a tightrope.
So, I spend hours tucked away in my dorm room, fighting the urge to reach out. The silence feels safe, if a little suffocating.
In these moments, I feel the steady creep of self-doubt settling in, intertwining with the words my friends have echoed about Nathaniel’s world, his background, the glaring differencesbetween us. I can’t escape the persistent whisper that I am just a passing curiosity to him—a brief distraction. This won’t last for long.
And yet, memories of our recent conversations and that almost reverent way he looked at me surface, a fragile thread of warmth that I find myself clinging to against my better judgment. I can’t shake the feeling that, for just a moment, he’d seen me,really seen me, in a way that scares me even more than my growing attraction to him.
Every time my resolve wavers, I remind myself of the risks—the potential distractions, the doubts his world stirs in mine. I’ve kept my head down, my replies curt, and the lines of connection meticulously frayed—piece by careful piece, though a persistent ache remains in the spaces he was beginning to fill.
But it was naive of me to think that I could avoid him forever, or that a man like Nathaniel Caldwell would give up easily on anything he set his mind on.
The halls were still clearing out after my last class when I felt his presence—a tangible shift in the air that made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Just knowing he’s there is enough to stop me in my tracks—like I’m already caught in his web.
“Olivia.”
His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it that tells me this isn’t going to be a casual conversation.
I turn slowly, gathering the composure I’ve managed to scrape together over the last few days. But the second our eyes meet, my defenses crumble. There’s no anger in his expression, no judgment—only a calm resolve, and something that looks like disappointment. Somehow, that’s worse.
“Hi, Nathaniel.” My voice comes out softer than I intend, almost apologetic.
He takes a step closer, eliminating the distance between us, his gaze unyielding. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” There’s no accusation in his tone, but it lands like one anyway.
