Siara's dream (2)

Yet, as much as she wanted to ignore it, there was something different this time. Something darker.

Nathan hadn't just tripped—that much was obvious.

The man who had touched her was still glaring, rubbing his head in frustration, but he didn't lash out. Maybe it was the way Nathan stood—calm, unbothered, yet strangely imposing. Maybe it was the way he smiled—like someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

Or maybe it was the cold amusement in his eyes, as if he found the entire situation mildly entertaining.

Siara hated that too.

She gritted her teeth and looked away. I don't need his help.

The rest of the bus ride was suffocating.

Siara kept her gaze fixed on the window, her grip on her bag tightening. The unwanted touches had stopped, but the discomfort in her chest only grew.

She felt… tainted.