Still in Love.

Something broke in the air when Still un Love saw me talking to that girl. It wasn't an immediate explosion, but a slow, almost imperceptible crack that opened in her expression. Her eyes stopped observing the world and focused solely on me. Before, her presence was intense but bearable; after that moment, it became suffocating, as if the air around me no longer belonged to me.

As I walked away, I felt her gaze fixed on my back, and I heard a sudden, silent closeness. Her smile was still there, but it was no longer sweet; it was cautious, calculated. It held a mixture of hurt and the conviction that something had to be fixed. For Still un Love, misunderstandings didn't exist: if I had spoken to someone else, then there was a problem.

The hallway narrowed. The cold wall behind me marked the boundary as she came too close. Her shadow enveloped me completely, as if she wanted to erase any trace of what had happened minutes before. Her voice, low and controlled, finally broke the silence.

—Who was she?

There was no direct accusation, just a question she already had the answer to. I tried to organize my thoughts, but I didn't have time.

—Since when have you been talking to other girls without telling me?

His fingers rested on the side of my head, not forcefully, but possessively. His eyes didn't blink.

"Did she make you laugh?" he asked, tilting his head slightly . "Do you like talking to her more than to me?"

Each question landed like a weight. Her smile trembled slightly, betraying the jealousy that was struggling to surface.

"I'll take care of you," he murmured . "No one else should need you... and you shouldn't need anyone else."

The space between us vanished. In his gaze was a twisted promise: to watch over, to protect, to isolate. I understood then that that chance encounter had sealed something irreversible. Still un Love didn't ask for explanations; he demanded belonging. And in that narrow corner, under his watchful eye.