Chapter 3

Felix's words had looped in my head.

Three years ago, the boy who knelt beside me in the library and helped gather my scattered books—was it really him? I'd always believed it was Tristan.

That memory was the first spark, the reason I'd fallen for that face.

What if I'd loved the wrong person all along?

The lab sat at the far end of the third floor.

When I pushed the door open, Felix was already inside, adjusting cables with a tense focus.

"You came." He glanced up. Nerves flickered behind his glasses. "Sit here."

I sat in the chair.

Then, like a thought brushing past my ear, I heard it—too clear to be imagination.

'Please let her remember. Please.'

I stiffened. "Did I just… hear something?"

Felix's hands froze. "Hear what?"

"It was like—someone talking." I swallowed. "Maybe I'm tired."

"Put this on." He handed me the electrode cap. "You might feel a mild tingle."

The moment the sensors touched my scalp, a faint current spread across my skin. Felix turned to the console; lines and waveforms began crawling across the screen.

"I'll show photos," he said. "Just look. Don't overthink it."

The image flashed up: Tristan at a student council podium, bright smile.

My pulse jumped—not from affection, but the leftover anger from last night.

'She's looking at my brother like that? Three years ago she lit up for this face.'

My breath caught. That voice hadn't come from the speakers. It had come from Felix.

"Felix." I met his eyes. "What truth are you trying to force me to see?"

Felix crossed the room to a cabinet and pulled out a file folder. "These are surveillance screenshots from Butler Library. Three years ago."

He spread the images on the table. The literature section. The second floor. A girl crouched amid fallen books—me. And beside me, a boy bending down to help.

"This isn't Tristan," I whispered.

"It's me." Felix's voice came out low.

I stared until the details sharpened. The glasses. The plain sweater. And the way the boy looked at me—careful, almost relieved, as if helping mattered more than being seen.

'She chased my brother after that. I watched. She never knew the moment she clung to was mine.'

Something inside my chest shifted, as if a story I'd told myself for years had been rewritten in one line.

"Why didn't you tell me?" My voice cracked. "Why let me believe it was him?"

"Because you looked happy. I didn't want to ruin it."

"So last night…" I started.

"I couldn't take it anymore." Felix continued. "Seeing how he treated you, I couldn't stay quiet."

'I might lose everything. But I won't watch her get hurt again.'

"This mind-reading thing," I said, forcing steadiness, "is that part of your design?"

He gave a humorless laugh. "No. It shouldn't happen. Not like this."

I got it then—this wasn't magic.

Felix had modified the EEG apparatus, initially intending merely to enhance the accuracy of recognition tests through "feedback synchronization," yet inadvertently propelled my cerebral responses beyond a certain critical threshold—as though forcibly "illuminating" a neural pathway that had previously lain dormant.

From that moment forth, perceiving others' thoughts no longer required any device, but became an instinct newly awakened within my very being.

And Felix brought me here not for experimental data, but to allow me to witness with my own eyes: who precisely was the person who kept me company in the library three years ago.

I rose and walked toward him. "Now I know."

"Felix…"

He continued, "You don't have to say anything. I just love you. From the first day."

I didn't let him finish. I stepped in and wrapped my arms around him.

For a second he stayed rigid, then his hands settled at my back—careful, like he was afraid I'd vanish if he held too tightly.

When I left the building, the world felt louder, as if everyone's thoughts now had a volume control I couldn't fully turn down.

At the dorm, I caught my roommates' voices in the hallway before I rounded the corner.

"Amy, do you think Ophelia will forgive Tristan?" Sarah asked.

Amy sighed. "Honestly? Tristan doesn't even like her."

"Poor Ophelia. She's the only one who can't see it."

"Every time Celeste shows up," Amy went on, "Tristan forgets Ophelia exists."

"And last night he chose Celeste again," Sarah said. "Should we tell her?"

"We tried. He always talks his way out of it. And she loved him so much—"

"Let her figure it out," Amy finished softly. "We just need to be there when it hurts."

They weren't cruel. They'd been protecting me. And I'd been living inside my own version of the story.

I took a breath, ready to step in—

A shout rose from outside.

"Ophelia! I know you're up there!"

Tristan.

I went to the window. He stood below the dorm with an oversized bouquet of red roses, the kind of scene designed for an audience.

He lifted his chin and shouted, "Baby, I was wrong! I bought your favorite roses!"

And then his thoughts slid into my head like oil.

"It's just a game. She always forgives me. Flowers, a few promises, and she'll come running back."

My hands clenched on the windowsill.

"I'll tell her Celeste was unwell. I'll say I was being a gentleman. Celeste will play along—we already agreed."

Sarah and Amy joined me at the window.

"He's here again," Amy muttered.

Sarah glanced at me. "Are you going down?"

I turned to my roommates. "Thank you—for not wanting to hurt me. But I'm done being sheltered."

Amy's expression softened. "Looks like you're finally awake."

Sarah's mouth tilted. "Felix seems… different. In a good way."

Warmth flickered through me at the mention of Felix's name.

I headed downstairs.

When I stepped onto the garden pathway, Tristan's face brightened into that familiar, rehearsed devotion.

"Babe," he said, walking toward me. "I came to apologize. Yesterday was my fault. These are for you."

He held out the roses.

'Look, she's already softening. Girls love this. Once she forgives me, I'll just be more careful next time.'

I didn't reach for the bouquet. I looked him straight in the eyes.

"So you think girls are easy to manipulate?"

Tristan froze. "What?"

I replied, "you think you can buy forgiveness with roses and a lie."

His smile faltered.

'How does she know? I didn't say that—'

"We're breaking up, Tristan," I said. "I'm done."