It had been days since she'd seen him — not clearly, not up close — but Elena still felt him like static beneath her skin.
Sometimes, when she walked past the old bookstore or the rusted bench near the admin building, she paused. Not because she saw him, but because she felt him. A pull in her chest, a soft heat in her spine. Eyes that were never visible, but always there.
Her sleep came in fragments. She dreamed of soft footsteps on rain-slicked ground. Of gloved hands brushing against her window. Of silence — thick, protective silence — wrapping around her like a shield.
And then, the letter came.
Folded beneath her doormat, it was barely a note at all. Just one line, scribbled in black ink:
"You don't owe them anything."
No name. No explanation. But Elena knew.
It had been a month since the student loan office last contacted her. She had planned to work part-time to start paying it down — but the balance had vanished.
Completely cleared.
She'd stood in the dusty office with the administrator blinking at the screen. "Looks like it's all taken care of," the woman had said. "Lucky girl."
Elena had barely managed a nod. Lucky?
No. Watched.
She sat on her bed that night holding the letter. Her throat tight. Her heart louder than her thoughts.
Why would he do that?
She had never told anyone how she cried the night her loan came in — how it reminded her of how alone she really was. Her parents were names on a birth certificate. Her childhood was cracked tile floors and group homes that never stayed long enough to feel like homes. No one had ever taken care of her.
Until now.
Only she didn't know who he really was — not yet.
The umbrella still sat in the corner of her room, untouched since the rain. She hadn't moved it. Couldn't. The word etched into the handle still made her breath catch.
Mine.
Some nights, she found herself whispering it under her breath.
Other nights, she pressed her palm against the glass of her window, wondering if he was out there again — watching, guarding, existing in the shadow between her reality and her longing.
Still, he didn't appear.
Not directly.
Not like that night in the rain.
But Elena noticed the small changes: a coffee cup outside her lecture hall, still warm. A worn novel on her seat at the library — one she mentioned loving once, a long time ago.
And once, after staying late for group study, she heard something.
Not footsteps.
Breathing.
Just outside the library doors. Low. Steady. She turned sharply, but the shadows were empty.
Or maybe they weren't.
Maybe he'd just gotten better at hiding.
She didn't tell anyone.
Liam had started asking questions, but Elena avoided them. He was kind, patient — but there was a weight to her world now that didn't have room for soft things.
She was being watched.
Protected.
Claimed.
And she didn't understand it… but she wasn't ready to give it up either.