The soft hum of children's voices filled the classroom as Esmé turned the page of the book in her hands, her voice gentle yet animated as she read aloud. Her students sat in small clusters on the carpet, eyes wide, expressions shifting with each new twist in the story.
"…and just as the little rabbit thought he was alone, he discovered that someone had been watching over him the whole time."
A few hands shot up, eager questions bubbling up before Esmé could turn the page.
"Why was the rabbit alone?" one child asked, brows furrowed in concern.
"Did he get lost?" another chimed in, eyes round with curiosity.
Esmé smiled, the kind of smile that carried warmth and patience. "Well, sometimes we don't realize the people who care about us," she said softly. "Even when we think we're all alone, there's always someone looking out for us."
Her students nodded, processing her words, and as she continued reading, she felt the quiet satisfaction of knowing she was a comforting presence for them.
Later, in the staff room, the energy was markedly different—quieter, more subdued. Esmé took slow sips of her coffee, savoring the small pause in her day.
Her coworker, Anna, slid into the chair beside her, setting down her lunch with a sigh. "You ever think about how we're just a bunch of old people teaching toddlers?" she mused, a smirk playing at her lips.
Esmé chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Speak for yourself."
Anna snorted. "Please, you've been here long enough. Face it—we're ancient."
Esmé shook her head, amused. "If teaching makes me ancient, I'll take it. At least the kids keep things interesting."
Anna nodded, taking a bite of her sandwich. "That's true. Never a dull moment."
The conversation drifted into easy chatter, the kind that filled the small breaks between the noise of their jobs. And for a moment, everything felt simple, familiar—a contrast to the thoughts Esmé carried when she was alone.
The glow of city lights flickered as Esmé pulled into a quiet spot near Noah's office, her hands resting lightly on the steering wheel. This was routine now—watching, learning, understanding him before their relationship even started.
It was practical, she told herself. Necessary.
If she knew his habits before they were together, he wouldn't have to question them later. Everything would be natural, seamless.
When Noah finally left work, she watched as he joined his friends, laughter spilling into the cool evening air. They headed toward the local bar—predictable, as it was every Friday.
Esmé waited.
An hour passed.
Her fingers drummed lightly against the dashboard as she glanced toward the entrance. She told herself she was just being thorough. That checking on him wasn't a violation of anything—it was care.
Finally, she stepped inside.
The atmosphere was a blur of energy—warm lights, pulsing music, bodies swaying. It didn't take long to find Noah.
He and his friends were deep into their drinks, their usual spot claimed at the bar. The bartenders seemed to know them well, tossing jokes back and forth, laughter rising above the background noise.
And Noah?
Drunk. Easy. Unconcerned.
He danced alongside his friends, careless and comfortable, his grin wide, his body moving without hesitation.
Esmé lingered near the entrance, watching—taking it all in.
This was a side of him she hadn't seen in quiet observations, in structured routines. This was a version of him unguarded.
Something about it made her press her lips together, assessing.
Was this the man she had chosen? Was this the person she had carefully set her sights on?
She watched, waiting for her answer.
The dim glow of neon signs cast streaks of light across the bar floor as Esmé stepped inside, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. She adjusted her glasses slightly, keeping her head down as she moved past the bustling crowd.
Across the room, Noah's gaze flickered in her direction. His expression tightened in brief confusion—was that her? The thought hovered in his mind for a moment before he brushed it off. Maybe he was just drunk.
Esmé didn't notice his fleeting glance as she took a seat in the corner, away from the noise but close enough to watch. When a waiter approached, she ordered something light—just enough to blend in without distraction.
The next hour drifted by in a haze of reckless laughter, rounds of drinks, and Noah, fully absorbed in the chaotic fun of his friends. She observed everything—the way the bartenders greeted them with easy familiarity, the way Noah leaned into conversations with effortless charm.
But then the night stretched too long, and Esmé's focus sharpened.
Outside, Noah stood by his car, hesitating. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
From her shadowed position, Esmé's stomach tightened. Who is he calling?
Fifteen minutes passed. Then, a taxi pulled up to the curb.
A woman stepped out.
Esmé stiffened, watching as she approached Noah, her voice rising in irritation. "Are you serious, Noah? You know you have to drive, and yet here you are—too drunk to even stand straight."
Noah groaned, rubbing his face. "Relax, I called you, didn't I?" His words were slurred, lazy.
Esmé's heart pounded, frustration creeping in. Who is she?
She turned sharply, her thoughts churning, irritation bubbling under the surface. As she walked past them, Noah called out.
"Esmé?"
She ignored him.
Again, louder. "Esmé!"
She paused, turning slowly, waiting—expecting an explanation.
The moment stretched in awkward silence.
The woman narrowed her eyes, glancing between them before settling her gaze on Noah. "Who's she?"
Esmé held her breath.
And now, she waited.