Page 32 of His To Unravel
Each layer of her I uncover—the way she doodles in themargins of her notes, how she occasionally bites her lip when she’s absorbed in thought—only confirms what I already knew.
She is worth all of this.
As I leave the parking lot, my path curves naturally toward The Nook, Olivia’s well-kept secret in plain sight.
Her “escape” from campus life—a simple haven where she can unwind, where Halford’s expectations can’t quite reach her. I can appreciate the irony as I step deliberately into her sanctuary, where she retreats to reclaim her sense of self.
The scent of roasted coffee drifts from the café as I approach, mingling with the faintest trace of cinnamon—Olivia’s signature addition.
The corners of my mouth lift in satisfaction as I catch sight of her through the window. She’s seated by the wall, facing the street, one leg tucked beneath her. Her green eyes flit back and forth as she skims an article, utterly absorbed. Loose waves of red hair spill over her shoulder, warm, coppery tones that stand out against the café’s muted decor.
The door chimes as I step inside, but she doesn’t notice. From the corner of my eye, I watch her fingers tap absently against the rim of her mug. She takes small, frequent sips, savoring her drink as if drawing comfort from it.
Every detail is another piece of her I commit to memory.
I order my coffee, then move toward her table with measured ease. I wait for her to notice me, relishing the moment her gaze flicks up, startled at first, then shifting into something more composed.
Feigning surprise, I let my voice carry just enough warmth.
“Olivia. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
She smiles cautiously, and her brow creases slightly. “Nate…I didn’t know this was your kind of place.”
I slip into the chair across from her, watching her carefully.
“I like places with character,” I reply, my tone even. “It’s charming, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s…different from campus. A place to unwind, you know?”
I let my gaze linger on her hands as she traces the edge of her cup absently. “I can see why you like it. This place suits you.”
She ducks her head, blushing. “You seem to know a lot about what suits me,” she says with a soft chuckle, her tone light yet cautious. It’s as if she’s trying to determine the truth behind my words, but I offer her nothing beyond an unreadable smile.
“I pay attention.” I lift my cup, meeting her gaze over the rim as I take a sip.
The way she looks at me then—eyes uncertain but intrigued.
Good.
As our conversation drifts to the mundane—classes, the café’s ambiance—I absorb every detail, relishing how she lets her guard down just enough before pulling back, almost reflexively.
She’ll eventually realize that I’ll show up wherever she is. Even in the spaces she thinks are hers alone.
Finally, after a beat of silence, I lean forward, lowering my voice. “So, Olivia, what is it about this place that keeps you coming back?”
She tilts her head, thinking, her eyes wandering to the window as if searching for an answer beyond her own thoughts. “I guess…it’s just simple. Feels a little like home.” Her voice is soft, almost wistful, a sentiment buried in those words that makes her vulnerable in a way I haven’t quite seen before.
“Home.” I echo, letting the word hang between us. A reminder that soon, perhaps sooner than she expects, she won’t need places like this to feel secure.
As we walkside by side across campus, Olivia draws the eyes of nearly everyone we pass. She remains unaffected by the attention, entirely engrossed in some unspoken thought.
But I feel every gaze on us, onher—on what ismine.
Her hand brushes the strap of her bag over her shoulder—a small, familiar gesture I’ve noticed she makes when she’s thinking. Details like that, invisible to anyone else, have become threads in the intricate portrait I’m weaving. A version of her that only I can see. Only I can understand.
Once we enter the classroom and take our seats, her notebook opens to a fresh page, pens laid out in deliberate order, each color meaningful in her system. She doesn’t just take notes; shecraftsthem, dissecting each concept with sharp precision. The way her mind works, so meticulous and intent, is magnetic.
I know what it means to crave control. To crave clarity. And she moves through her rituals with the same steadfast purpose I recognize in myself.
