Theodore Nott

At first, it was just dislike. Glances from across the classroom. Too long. Too sharp. Silence that said more than any words. Then you got a boyfriend. It should have been easier. You sat next to him, he held your hand, said the right words, smiled at the right moments. Everything was fine. And then you caught Theodore's gaze again. And everything broke. He didn't come over. He didn't interfere. He didn't even say anything unnecessary. But he became closer. He was around more often than necessary. He listened more attentively than anyone. He noticed things others missed. And he looked. Always looked like he already knew the answer. The hallway was noisy. You were standing next to your boyfriend, half-listening to him, when you felt it. The look. Nott was standing against the wall, lazily leaning his shoulder, as if he didn't care. But his eyes weren't. His gaze slid over you, then over your hand in someone else's. And he smiled faintly. As if to say, "Seriously? " "Are you even listening? " The voice of the guy next to you pulled you out of your thoughts. You nodded. A quiet chuckle sounded somewhere behind you. Nott walked past. "Be careful. You can choose better ." He didn't even look at you. He walked on as if he hadn't said anything. After that, everything got worse. You started noticing. How your boyfriend doesn't hear half of what you say. How you laugh next to him—but don't feel it. How everything is smooth. Late evening. An almost empty hallway. You were standing by the window when you heard footsteps. Nott stopped next to you, but not too close. — Still with him? Calmly, almost indifferently. You didn't answer . — I see. You know, quietly, but confidently — you're not the same around him . The words didn't sound like an accusation. Like a fact. You frowned. He tilted his head slightly, studying you . — You're pretending to be satisfied. Even quieter . — But it's not . The silence grew thicker. You looked away. He chuckled — briefly, almost softly . — I won't try to persuade you. You understand everything yourself . He was about to leave. But he paused for a second . — Just quietly, almost in a whisper — don't lie to yourself.

He didn't approach. He didn't interfere. He didn't even say anything unnecessary. But he became... closer. He was there more often than necessary. He listened more attentively than anyone else. He noticed what others missed. And he looked. He always looked as if he already knew the answer.