The air hit me like a wave—dry, electric, thick with fuel and leftover heat. I stood still just outside the terminal doors, gripping the handle of my suitcase like it could somehow anchor me to this moment. My heart was pounding, fast and unsteady, like it hadn't quite realized we'd made it.
But we had. I was really here.
After years of counting down, crossing time zones through phone screens, saying goodbye at departure gates and whispering I miss you's into dark rooms, I was finally in Los Angeles. Not as a tourist. Not on a short exchange. I was here to stay. To study. To be with him.
To start our life—finally.
Everything buzzed louder than I remembered. Horns honked. A baby wailed. Someone shouted into a phone in rapid Spanish. The sun felt like it was baking through my clothes, but the ground beneath my feet felt unreal. Like I might float off at any second.
I scanned the rows of cars and people, searching.
He said he'd be here.
That ridiculous nervous voice inside me started whispering doubts. What if he forgot? What if he changed his mind? What if—
No.
I shook the thought away, tightening my grip on my suitcase handle.
Then I saw him.
Leaning against a black car with one foot crossed over the other, sunglasses perched on his head, scrolling through his phone like he had nowhere else to be. The light hit his face at an angle that sharpened his features—his jaw, his cheekbones. He looked... older. A little different than I remembered. Harder, maybe. But still Liam.
Still mine.
I raised a hand, hesitant.
He looked up.
His eyes locked on me, and for a moment he didn't move—like he wasn't sure I was real. Then his lips curved into a slow smile, and my heart nearly gave out from relief.
"Anya," he called out, pushing off the car.
I let go of my suitcase and ran, not caring how desperate or stupid I looked. His arms caught me just in time.
"You're here," he murmured against my hair.
I closed my eyes and breathed him in. He smelled like mint, faint smoke, and the cologne I'd once sprayed on my pillow just to feel closer to him. My fingers dug into the back of his jacket.
"I missed you," I whispered, almost afraid to say it out loud.
He didn't say it back. Just kissed the side of my head and stepped away, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear like nothing had changed.
"You look tired," he said. "Let's get out of this chaos."
I nodded, smiling. But something cold and quiet stirred inside me.
No I missed you too.
No You look beautiful.
No I can't believe you're here.
Maybe it was just nerves. Or jet lag. Or the fact that my expectations were stupidly cinematic.
Still, I felt a flicker of... something.
I followed him to the car, trying to push it aside.
⸻
The city blurred past the window like a dream I was still waking up from. Palm trees lined the streets like tall, lazy guards. Bright graffiti danced across freeway walls, and the sky stretched out in that endless, cloudless blue you only see on movie posters. I watched it all with wide eyes, forehead pressed against the glass.
Liam drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. The music playing from the speakers was from a playlist we'd made together months ago. I remembered the night we picked those songs—arguing over which ones were "us," laughing until my face hurt. I wondered if he remembered too.
"You cut your hair," I said quietly, glancing at him.
He didn't look over. "Yeah. Needed a change."
"I liked it longer."
He smirked. "Not everyone's into the tortured artist look."
I smiled, but it didn't reach all the way.
The Liam I remembered was curious, tender. He used to ask me about everything—what I was reading, what I dreamed about, what I'd eaten for breakfast. He used to look at me like I was the most interesting thing in the world.
Now... he barely glanced.
"How's the apartment?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"Cramped. Loud. You'll love it."
He didn't offer any more. Just changed lanes and kept his eyes on the road.
⸻
The building was wedged between a tattoo parlor and a run-down liquor store in Echo Park. It looked like it had been forgotten by time. The gate squealed when he pushed it open, and the stairwell smelled like old cigarettes and something vaguely chemical.
Two floors up, he opened the door with his shoulder.
"Welcome to Casa Liam," he said, stepping aside.
It was smaller than I expected. One bedroom, a tiny kitchen, a couch that had definitely seen better days. The walls were covered in posters—bands I only half-recognized, vintage prints, and black-and-white Polaroids. Light spilled in through a cracked window, illuminating a cluttered coffee table and a worn guitar case propped against the wall.
"It's... cozy," I offered, setting my suitcase down by the couch.
"It's temporary," he said. "We'll find something better once you settle in."
We.
The word gave me a flutter of hope.
Liam collapsed onto the couch with a groan, stretching his arms behind his head like he hadn't just picked me up from the airport. Like this was any other day.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"Starving."
"There's a diner down the street. We'll go in a bit."
In a bit.
Not Let's go now.
Not I've been dying to take you there.
I tried to smile and wandered toward the shelves by the TV. My heart lifted a little when I saw the picture of us from the beach—me in his hoodie, both of us laughing, eyes squinting against the wind. He'd kept it. That had to mean something.
"I think I'll shower," I said softly. "I feel like I'm still wrapped in airplane air."
"Bathroom's through the bedroom," he said. "The water's annoying—don't touch the cold knob once it's running."
I nodded and walked slowly across the room, feeling his eyes follow me. But not in the way he used to. Not with affection or longing. More like he was watching something unfamiliar.
I closed the bathroom door behind me and leaned against it, exhaling slowly.
I was here.
With him.
This was everything I wanted.
Wasn't it?
The shower hissed and steamed like it was trying to drown out my thoughts. I stood under the water longer than I needed to, letting the warmth bleed through my skin until I couldn't tell if the heat rising in my chest was just the temperature or something else entirely.
The more I tried to quiet my thoughts, the louder they got. That look in Liam's eyes—it wasn't cold exactly. But it wasn't the warmth I remembered. It felt like being hugged by a ghost of him, something that looked right but didn't quite feel right.
I dried off and changed into a soft hoodie and jeans, then stared at myself in the foggy mirror. My reflection looked just a little off. Maybe it was the jet lag. Or maybe I already missed something that hadn't even left me yet.
When I stepped back into the apartment, Liam was on the phone. His voice dropped the moment he saw me.
"Yeah... she just got here."
Pause.
"No. I'll call you later."
He hung up without another word and tucked the phone into his pocket.
"You ready?" he asked.
I nodded, even though I wasn't sure for what.
⸻
We walked through the neighborhood, the city buzzing and sprawling in every direction. The buildings looked tired and defiant, like they'd survived too much to care what people thought of them anymore. I liked that.
Liam kept his hands in his pockets and walked just a little ahead of me, like a guide more than a boyfriend. He pointed out random things—the bar his band sometimes played at, the taco truck that had "god-tier burritos," the store that used to be a video rental before it became a thrift shop. I tried to soak it all in, but I kept falling behind, distracted by the light, the noise, the energy of it all.
Everything felt big. Bigger than I'd imagined.
And then... I felt it.
It was subtle. Just a ripple. Like someone brushing past your skin without ever touching it. A flicker at the base of my neck that made me stop walking and glance behind me.
Nothing. Just a woman pulling a stroller and a guy unlocking his bike.
Still, my chest tightened.
"You okay?" Liam asked, noticing I'd stopped.
"Yeah," I said quickly. "Just thought I saw someone."
"Not everyone's trying to mug you, you know."
He smirked like it was a joke, but didn't wait for me to laugh. He kept walking.
I looked one last time over my shoulder.
Nothing.
But I couldn't shake it.
⸻
The diner was small and glowing with neon. Inside, the booths were red vinyl and the smell of grease and coffee was oddly comforting. We sat in the corner, and I pressed my hand to the glass of the window, feeling the coolness on my skin.
Liam ordered for both of us without asking. That used to be sweet. Now it felt... automatic.
I sipped the soda in front of me and let my eyes wander outside. The city kept moving. People blurred past. Cars idled. A man stood at the crosswalk across the street. Still. Too still.
His face was hidden by a hoodie, head slightly tilted down.
Something about him made my stomach twist.
"Liam," I said, almost whispering.
But when I blinked, the man was gone.
I stared at the spot where he'd been, heart racing for no reason I could explain.
Liam didn't notice. He was scrolling through his phone again, tapping the screen with a furrowed brow.
"Everything okay?" I asked carefully.
"Yeah," he said, distracted. "Just band stuff."
I nodded and looked back out the window. The street was empty now.
Still... I felt it.
That same ripple. That unseen touch. That silence that pressed too hard against my ribs.
Someone was watching me.
And I didn't know why—but deep down, I felt certain it wasn't the first time.
____
I woke up to the sound of a distant siren and the soft hum of traffic, so different from the sleepy silence of Saint Petersburg. For a moment, I forgot where I was. The sheets smelled like Liam's cologne—cedar and citrus, faint but familiar—and the ceiling above me wasn't cracked like back home. It was smooth. Clean. White.
This was real.
Los Angeles.
My new life.
I turned onto my side, watching the early light stretch across the floor. It felt like I should be excited. Nervous, maybe. Hopeful. I was finally here, studying in one of the most vibrant cities in the world, and Liam was just a room away.
But that feeling from yesterday still clung to me like a shadow.
I hadn't told Liam about the man outside the airport, or the way I'd felt walking through the city, as if someone was watching me from just outside my line of sight. He'd been distracted when we got home—checking his phone constantly, stepping out to take a call he wouldn't explain.
And when I'd asked if everything was okay, he'd just said, "It's nothing," and changed the subject.
I didn't push. Maybe I should've.
I sat up and glanced toward the hallway. The door to the second bedroom—the one Liam used as a music studio—was shut. He said he was recording late last night.
I didn't hear a thing.
I got up and walked into the kitchen, making tea the way my mother taught me—slow, methodical, grounding. The routine helped.
I needed that.
The soft bubbling of the kettle, the rustle of the tea bag wrapper, the steam fogging up the window—tiny anchors to hold onto.
But still, something didn't sit right.
I turned toward the window that overlooked the street. My eyes drifted across the sidewalk, the parked cars, the fire hydrant—just normal things.
And then I saw it.
A man standing by the traffic light. Hoodie pulled up. Hands in his pockets.
Still.
Too still.
His face was obscured, but something in the way he stood made my spine tighten.Like he was waiting. Watching. Then the light changed, and he walked away.
I blinked.
Gone.
My hands tightened around the cup, knuckles pale.It was probably nothing. Just another stranger. A coincidence.
⸻
The ride to campus felt like watching someone else's life through a screen. Palm trees flicked past the window, sun glaring off car hoods, and everything had that strange West Coast glow—too bright, too clean, too unreal. I sat near the back of the bus, cradling my backpack in my lap like a shield, trying not to look as lost as I felt. The others around me—students, commuters, people on their phones—looked like they belonged to this world. I didn't. Not yet.
I had earphones in, but no music playing. Just silence. I needed it. I wasn't in the mood to hear a pop anthem about freedom and fresh starts while my chest still felt tight and unsettled. I kept catching my reflection in the bus window, but every time I did, I caught myself scanning the background instead. Not for anything specific—just... watching. Waiting.
It was stupid. Irrational. I told myself that more than once.
Still, I couldn't stop.
Campus hit me like a wave of noise and movement. Students swarmed every walkway, filling benches and stairwells, clinging to iced coffees and laptops like lifelines. The buildings were beautiful—sleek glass facades mixed with older stone halls, all tucked under the kind of sky that felt too vast. I paused at the gates, taking it in, swallowing back the panic I didn't want to name. I was here. This was supposed to be the dream.
My first class was Introduction to Architectural Theory, and even the name made me nervous. I found the lecture hall early and chose a seat near the middle—strategically neutral. Not close enough to look desperate, not far enough to seem disinterested. Around me, voices buzzed in casual American confidence, and I tried to look like I wasn't staring.
I opened my notebook, fingers brushing against the sketch I'd started last night—just lines and curves, nothing complete. Something about it made my stomach twist.
"First year?"
I looked up. A girl had dropped into the seat beside me. She had dark curly hair, skin the color of coffee with cinnamon, and the kind of presence that didn't ask permission to exist.
"Yeah," I said, offering a quick smile. "You?"
"Second. Camila."
"Anya."
She grinned. "Pretty name. Russian?"
I nodded. She sipped her coffee like we'd known each other for weeks. "You'll survive this class," she said, gesturing at the stage where the professor was adjusting his mic. "Barely. He's passionate, but you'll zone out halfway through unless you really, really love Vitruvius."
I had no idea who that was. I smiled anyway.
She leaned a little closer, her voice lowering like we were sharing a secret. "Not to be creepy, but when I walked in, I saw a guy outside. Tall. Hoodie. Just... standing there. Looking in through the glass. Looked like he was staring straight at you."
My fingers froze on the page.
"Probably your boyfriend?" she added.
"No," I said, too quickly. "Liam wasn't here."
She raised an eyebrow but didn't push it. I forced my pen to move, pretending to take notes as the lecture began, but my head wasn't in it. Not even close.
After class, Camila dragged me to the campus café. She talked fast, like she was making up for my silence, filling the gaps with stories about professors, horrible dorm food, and the best time of day to steal the good seats in the library. I liked her. She made the world feel a little less huge.
But even while she talked, I kept glancing out the window. Watching. Waiting.
And then I saw him.
Across the street, leaning against a lamppost. Still. Like a figure in a photograph.
My stomach flipped.
He didn't move. Didn't shift his weight. Just... stood there.
And then a bus passed.
When it was gone, so was he.
I blinked. Swallowed. Told myself not to overreact.
Maybe I imagined him. Maybe it was someone else entirely.
Maybe I was losing it.
Liam pulled up in his black BMW just as I stepped off the curb. I recognized the sound of the engine before I even saw him—low, controlled, like everything about him.
He wore sunglasses, even though the light was fading, and his jaw was tight when I slid into the passenger seat.
"Hey," I said, fastening my seatbelt.
"Hey," he replied, eyes never leaving the road as he accelerated.
Silence settled between us, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning. I turned to look at him, searching for something in his profile—warmth, tiredness, a hint of the boy I'd fallen for. But all I saw was distance.
"I missed you today," I said quietly. "A lot happened. I feel kind of... off."
His grip tightened on the steering wheel. "You said it went fine this morning."
"It did. I mean, it was okay. But it's overwhelming. New people, new city. I think I saw someone watching me."
That got a glance. Not concern—more like mild irritation.
"You're probably just stressed," he said. "It's normal. Don't overthink it."
I swallowed hard. "Maybe. I just—could we stay in tonight? Just you and me? No music, no phone calls. I just want to feel like you're here."
He hesitated, then gave a nod so small I almost missed it. "Yeah. Sure."
When we got home I made us some hot chocolate, that he insisted on drinking in bed. I thought he wanted to watch a movie or something but the only thing he did was take an extra blanket for me but then ignored me to text with "the band". I tried putting my head on his chest but his constant tapping on the phone made me uncomfortable so I decided to text my best friend.
After a few minutes he turned to me and said "I thought you didn't want to stay on your phone?"
I looked at him stunned by the question and the tone. He seemed annoyed but looked like he was trying to hide it. So I decided to let my phone down and give my attention to him. "You were busy and I didn't want to bother you so I thought about texting Anna who texted me yesterday. But if you're free we can maybe cuddle a bit?"
"Sure, come here" he extended his arm for me to lay on it but didn't hug me with it. Not complaining, I just expected a little more enthusiasm for a men who hasn't seen his girlfriend in years.
"I missed this" I said nuzzling more into his chest but after a bit I realized that he had already fallen asleep and wasn't listening to me.
Why do I start to feel like this was a mistake?