How Can I Stop Liking You
"I can just wait here," Grace replies, blinking against the hallway light.
Julian shifts his gaze slightly to the side, avoiding her eyes. It's awkward—for both of them. Grace stands there wrapped in nothing but towels, damp from the rain, her vulnerability stark against the sterile hotel corridor.
"There are two rooms in my suite," he says at last. "You can wait in the bedroom. I'll stay in the living room. You can't just stand out here like this."
She hesitates. He has a point. It's not exactly polite to keep rejecting someone who's only trying to help. And she is freezing.
"Okay… then let me excuse myself," Grace murmurs, stepping hesitantly toward him.
Julian smirks faintly, barely perceptible, and scans his keycard at the door. It unlocks with a soft click. He steps inside first, deliberately avoiding eye contact, and holds the door open behind him.
Inside, he slots the card into the panel, and the room hums to life as the lights come on. The layout mirrors hers—modern, minimal, elegant. Grace enters quietly, trailing him like a shadow.
He gestures toward the bedroom without turning around.
"You can stay there. I'll be out here."
As he moves to walk away, still keeping his back to her, Grace's voice stops him.
"No, I'll take the living room. Just let me know when the master key is ready. I'll head out."
Julian halts. Slowly, he turns. Their eyes meet.
The air sharpens with the sudden tension. Embarrassment flickers between them like static.
He quickly looks away, out the window toward the dark silhouette of the mountain rising against the night.
"Stay wherever you want, then," he says, voice low.
He steps toward the bedroom, then pauses at the threshold. Still facing away, he asks, "Do you want a shower robe or something?"
"Yes, that'd be great. Thanks," Grace replies without hesitation.
Relief washes over her.
At least a robe… she thinks, easing herself awkwardly onto the edge of the sofa.
The towels wrapped around her feel more like loose bandages than clothing, and she's suddenly hyper aware of every inch of exposed skin. She never imagined something as simple as being wrapped in a towel could feel this vulnerable—especially in front of him. Of all people, it had to be Julian. She still can't believe it—crossing paths with him here, of all places. The universe is playing some strange game.
Julian returns moments later, white robe in hand. He offers it to her without meeting her eyes, gaze fixed somewhere—anywhere—else.
Grace suppresses a small smile. There's something oddly endearing about how carefully he's navigating this situation, clearly trying not to make her feel any more uncomfortable than she already is. For all his aloofness, he's being unmistakably considerate.
"Thanks," she says, accepting the robe.
"I'll head to the bedroom," Julian mumbles, already turning away. He disappears behind the bedroom door, shutting it quietly behind him.
Only then does Grace let the towels drop. She slips into the robe, ties the belt firmly around her waist, and exhales a breath she didn't realize she was holding. It's not perfect, but she feels safer, less exposed.
She sinks deeper into the sofa. With no phone, no book, nothing to distract her, the silence in the room is louder than it should be. Her gaze drifts to the massive window dominating the living room wall. Beyond the glass, the night stretches over the mountains like a dark ocean, the outlines of the peaks barely visible against the starless sky.
"What a nature," she murmurs, her voice nearly swallowed by the stillness. It's a distraction—anything to pull her away from the surreal tension of this evening.
But her thoughts circle back.
What is it with Professor Julian? Why does he keep appearing in my life?
From Mellany, to that lecture hall in L. Bingo, to now—this strange, unplanned hotel encounter. The coincidences are piling up, and they're starting to feel like something more.
She sighs, thinking of her mother—probably deep in discussion at the conference right now, completely unaware of the odd twist her daughter's evening has taken.
Hope I can get the master key and go back to the room before Mom comes in… Grace thinks, anxiety flickering beneath her calm surface.
But the thought fades as her mind drifts. The quiet, the warmth of the robe, the tension slowly unraveling—it all begins to lull her. A yawn escapes before she can stop it, and her body starts to surrender. Sleep creeps in like a slow tide, steady and impossible to resist.
Her eyelids grow heavier with each blink. Her head dips forward, then jerks up again—one of those sudden, involuntary motions that makes her blink in confusion. She lets out a soft sigh, curling her legs slightly on the couch. Eventually, she leans back, head tilted against the cushion, eyes now barely slits.
And then—without realizing it—her eyes close for good.
Silence fills the room, thick and still. Outside, the mountain looms like a sleeping beast, shrouded in the dark velvet of night. Inside, Grace slips into a deep, unguarded sleep.
Meanwhile, Julian stands in the bedroom, restless.
He would've taken a shower the moment he got back—normally, he does. The day's weight still clings to his skin, and he craves the clarity that comes with hot water and silence. But tonight isn't normal. Grace is outside in the living room, and the thought of being mid-shower when the hotel staff calls about the master key—having to throw on a robe and awkwardly emerge dripping to talk to her—makes him hesitate.
So, he waits.
He lingers near the window, arms crossed loosely over his chest, staring out into the same stretch of dark wilderness that she sees from the other room. The mountains sit still under a sky smudged with clouds, distant lights flickering faintly from the lower village. It's quiet out there. And oddly, quiet in here, too.
How am I just coming across her here…?
The question drifts through him unbidden. And without even realizing it, a small smile plays on his lips.
He can't lie to himself. This is abrupt—so much so, it should throw him off. But it doesn't. Not really. He's not annoyed. He's not bothered. If anything… it feels strangely natural. Like the continuation of a story neither of them meant to keep telling.
What would she be doing in the living room right now? he wonders.
She didn't have her phone—he remembers that clearly, remembers her wrapped in towels, flustered and annoyed at herself. He chuckles faintly under his breath.
She's so clumsy at times.
It strikes him how different she is from the image she projects. That calm, nonchalant tone of hers—the low, steady voice, the poised responses, the sharp glances. She carries herself like someone unshaken. But tonight, wrapped in towels, stranded in the hallway, she's just… Grace. And underneath that cool exterior, he sees it now—something softer. More delicate. Human.
He turns slightly, glancing toward the closed bedroom door.
She's always acting so composed, he thinks, but at times like this, she's just a girl.
And somehow, that makes her even more compelling.
It's like ever since I realized my feelings for her, Julian thinks, smirking faintly to himself, everything keeps pulling me deeper. Like I'm not even allowed to stop.
He remains by the window, but his thoughts are far from the night outside. They drift toward the living room, to the girl lying just beyond the door. Unconsciously, he takes a step forward, drawn by something quiet and magnetic—an urge to check on her. To see her.
But just as he's about to move, his phone buzzes in his hand, slicing through the silence.
He answers.
"Sir, this is the front desk of Kingston Hotel," a polite voice greets from the other end.
"Yes. Is the new key ready?" Julian asks.
"Yes, fortunately, our key-making system is back online. We'll be sending one of our staff members up within fifteen minutes. Please wait near the aisle in front of room 1105."
"Thank you," Julian replies.
"We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience, Sir. This kind of malfunction is extremely rare for us, but thankfully, it's been resolved. Have a good night."
"You too. Good night," Julian says, ending the call.
Still holding his phone, he walks slowly out of the bedroom. The lights in the living room are dim, casting a warm, amber glow over everything. And there she is.
Grace.
She's asleep on the sofa, head tilted back, lips slightly parted, completely still. Her robe is tied snugly around her waist now, and her arms rest loosely by her sides. The tension from earlier is gone—washed away by sleep. In this quiet moment, she looks almost unreal.
Julian approaches silently, footsteps deliberately soft. He should wake her. Let her know the key is coming. Be practical. Responsible.
But he doesn't.
He stands there instead, watching her. Taking her in.
The gentle rise and fall of her chest. The faint crease between her brows. The contrast between her slightly flushed cheeks and her slim frame. There's a softness to her that few get to see—he knows that instinctively now. And the sight of her like this, unguarded and peaceful, does something to him.
He sighs, barely a whisper in the air.
How can I stop liking you, Grace Silver?