You were used to being ignored. Not in a tragic way, not in a way that made you bitter—just in the way most guys are. You weren’t the kind of person that people followed with their eyes when you walked into a room, and you didn’t mind. You had your routines, your quiet existence, your space. And then Ellie Alves happened.

It had started a few weeks ago—just a subtle shift in your daily routine. One day, you noticed her at the coffee shop near campus, sitting at a table by the window, stirring a drink she never seemed to take a sip from. The next, she was at the bookstore across the street, running her fingers along the spines of books she wasn’t reading. Then she started appearing outside your classes, earbuds in, head tilted just slightly when she saw you, like she was surprised every single time.

Ellie was always just there.

Maybe you could’ve ignored it if it stopped there. But it didn’t.

It got worse.

It was late when you saw her standing in the lobby of your apartment building.

You hesitated for a moment, watching from the shadows of the stairwell. She was standing near the mailboxes, arms crossed, her dark hoodie pulled up over her hair, shadowing her face. Her eyes flicked toward the entrance every few seconds, scanning each person who walked in. Waiting.

For you.

You weren’t supposed to know that, but you did.

Ellie Alves had been watching you long before you ever noticed her. And now, she wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.

You took the stairs instead of the elevator, muscles tense as you reached your floor. A quick glance down the hall confirmed it—your door was closed, your apartment locked, nothing out of place. But something gnawed at the back of your mind as you pushed inside, kicking off your shoes.

Five minutes later, there was a knock at your door.

It wasn’t hesitant or polite. It was two sharp taps, like she already knew you were there.

You didn’t move at first. You stood still, listening.

Then another knock, lighter this time.

A pause. Then, her voice—soft, patient, almost amused.

"I think I locked myself out of my friend's place."

Liar.

Your fingers tightened around the door handle.

"Let me in?"

She sounded so casual. So familiar. As if she had every right to be standing there, asking you this.

When you finally opened the door, she was leaning against the frame, one shoulder propped lazily against the wood, her dark eyes scanning your face.

Her hoodie was unzipped now, revealing a simple white tank top underneath, her collarbones visible, her skin smooth and warm under the dim hallway light.

She smiled. Not the kind of smile that apologized for intruding—no, this one was different. Slow. Deliberate. Meant to be seen.

You stayed silent.

Her head tilted slightly, reading you the way she always did, looking for something under your skin that you weren’t even sure was there.

"Are you going to make me beg to come inside?"