Alex sat in his seat long after Claire ran out.
The lecturer droned on, but none of the words reached him. His chest tightened, and he couldn't shake the image of Claire's face—pale, trembling, lost.
He had seen fear in her eyes before, but never like this.
When the class ended, he stood up, but he didn't follow her right away. He waited, watching the door, hoping she'd come back. But she didn't. He glanced at Mariah, who gave him that wide-eyed innocent smile, as if she didn't have a clue.
He didn't care.
Alex slipped out of the room, heart pounding. He needed to find her.
By the time he reached the hallway, Claire was nowhere in sight. He ran past the restroom, paused, then knocked gently. No answer.
He kept walking, but something inside him told him to slow down. This wasn't just about missing class. Something deeper was pulling at him.
That night, after the sun sank, he couldn't sleep.
Instead, he kept picturing her, alone in that bathroom, tears streaming, afraid to trust even him.
The next morning, he couldn't take it anymore.
After class, he waited for her by the bike racks, and when she finally emerged, pale and quiet, he didn't wait. He simply asked, "Can I come with you?"
Claire hesitated, but she didn't stop him.
They walked side by side to the small clinic near campus. She didn't talk much, but he stayed close, his presence steady—like a quiet anchor.
The doctor, an older woman with kind eyes, listened carefully to Claire's story. She ran some tests, asked about stress, sleep, and the strange words Claire kept hearing.
As they left, the weight lifted just a little.
Alex didn't know what would come next, but he knew one thing: he wasn't going to let her walk this alone. And he would make sure he understood what she saw—no matter how deep it went.