The Way He Watches Me When He Thinks I Don’t Notice

The weight of the past night still clung to Elena, an invisible thread tying her thoughts to the charged moment she had almost shared with Nathaniel. Sleep had eluded her, every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the intensity in his gaze, the way his breath had mingled with hers, the way his restraint had frayed at the edges. She had replayed it over and over, wondering what would have happened if that knock hadn't come.

But now, as she stepped into the lecture hall, reality settled heavily over her. The world continued moving, and so did they. She reminded herself that nothing had happened. That nothing could happen. And yet, when she spotted him at the front of the room, his fingers adjusting his tie with an almost impatient motion, she knew she wasn't the only one battling ghosts.

Nathaniel Pierce wasn't a man easily shaken. He was the epitome of control, of unwavering authority. But today, something was different. She saw it in the way his jaw tensed when his eyes flicked up and met hers, in the way his fingers momentarily stilled against his tie before continuing as though nothing had happened. He was slipping—just like she was.

Elena swallowed and forced herself into her seat. Sophie was already there, watching her with keen eyes. "So," she murmured, leaning in, "on a scale of one to I almost threw myself at him, how bad is it today?"

Elena shot her a look, but Sophie only grinned.

Before she could answer, Nathaniel's voice cut through the lecture hall. "We're beginning now."

His tone was the same—sharp, authoritative, unwavering—but she could hear the slight edge beneath it, the careful control. He turned to the board, beginning his lecture, and for a moment, she almost convinced herself that things were normal.

Almost.

Because then it started.

The way he watched her when he thought she wouldn't notice.

It wasn't obvious—not to anyone else, at least. His movements were precise, his gaze never lingering long enough to draw suspicion. But Elena had spent too much time studying him, too much time deciphering the nuances of his expressions, his tone, the way his body betrayed him when his mind fought to stay in control. And right now, he was fighting.

His eyes would sweep across the room, pausing just long enough on her to make her pulse quicken before shifting away. It was subtle, restrained. But she felt every glance like a touch.

Her fingers tightened around her pen.

She tried to focus on the lecture, to absorb the words he was saying, but it was impossible when she was hyper-aware of him, of the way his shoulders were tenser than usual, of the way his voice dipped lower when his gaze flickered in her direction.

And then, there was the moment he almost slipped.

It happened when he turned to the board, writing out a formula, his back to the class. He spoke as he wrote, his voice steady. "This particular concept is one that requires precision. If you approach it carelessly, you risk a miscalculation."

His voice was even, controlled—until he hesitated. A fraction of a second, a pause no one else would notice. But Elena did. Because in that moment, his shoulders tensed, his grip on the marker tightened, and she realized—he knew she was watching him just as much as he was watching her.

Their awareness of each other had become a game neither of them could control.

When he turned back around, their eyes met for a fleeting second—long enough for her to see the war raging inside him, long enough for him to realize she wasn't backing down.

Sophie leaned closer, whispering under her breath, "You two are a disaster waiting to happen."

Elena exhaled slowly.

She knew Sophie was right.

But the worst part?

She wasn't sure she even cared anymore.

The lecture ended, and the air inside the hall felt heavier than before. Students gathered their things, their voices a dull hum in the background as Elena remained seated, her fingers gripping the edge of her notebook. She needed a moment—to steady herself, to force her mind away from the way Nathaniel had looked at her today. It wasn't just the fleeting glances or the way his voice wavered ever so slightly. It was the weight of it, the silent pull between them that neither of them dared acknowledge aloud.

Sophie nudged her arm, her voice laced with amusement. "You're staring again."

Elena blinked, tearing her gaze away from where Nathaniel stood at his desk, his back to them as he stacked his notes. "I'm not—"

"You are," Sophie cut in, smirking. "And the best part? He's doing it too. Just more… subtly."

Elena's heart skipped. She swallowed and grabbed her bag, standing quickly. "I have to go."

Sophie chuckled but didn't stop her as she hurried toward the door.

She had nearly made it into the hallway when his voice stopped her.

"Miss Hart."

The words slid through her, making her breath hitch. She turned slowly, schooling her features into something neutral even as her pulse betrayed her. The hall had mostly emptied, only a few lingering students gathering their things. Nathaniel stood by his desk, his hands braced against the surface, his expression unreadable.

"Stay a moment," he said, voice even.

Elena hesitated. She knew she should walk away, that this was the exact kind of moment they needed to avoid. But her feet didn't move. She exhaled quietly, then nodded.

Sophie gave her a pointed look before slipping out, leaving her alone with him.

The door closed behind the last student, sealing them into silence. Nathaniel's fingers tapped lightly against the desk before he finally lifted his gaze to hers.

"You weren't paying attention in class today," he said, a hint of something unreadable in his voice.

Elena's lips parted slightly. That was what he wanted to say?

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Are we really going to pretend that's the biggest problem here?"

Something flickered in his expression—something dark and conflicted. His jaw tightened as he stepped around the desk, closing the distance between them. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Elena arched a brow, calling his bluff. "Really? Because I noticed, Nathaniel."

His name came out softer than she intended, but it had the effect she expected. His breathing changed, his fingers curled into his palm.

Elena took a slow step closer. "The way you watch me when you think I don't see it. The way you hesitate when I catch you. It's not just me, is it?"

His silence was deafening.

Nathaniel exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before looking at her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "Elena," he warned.

But she wasn't backing down.

"Tell me I'm wrong," she challenged, stepping even closer. "Tell me you don't think about it. About me."

Nathaniel's hand clenched at his side as if restraining himself. "This is dangerous."

"So stop looking at me like that," she murmured. "Like you want something you won't let yourself have."

His breathing deepened, and for a moment, she thought he might break. That he might finally say something real, might finally let himself slip.

Instead, he took a step back. His expression shuttered, his control snapping back into place. "Go home, Elena."

Disappointment curled in her chest, but she nodded slowly.

She turned, walking to the door, but before she could step out, his voice stopped her again—quieter this time, almost pained.

"It's not just you."

Her breath hitched, but she didn't turn around.

She didn't have to.

Because she already knew.

And so did he.