Chapter 8: The Gift and the Listener

Image Credit: Envato.com

The flowers sat on Jamie’s desk like a question she could not answer.

Brown paper, neatly folded corners. The stems still damp from cold air. The box of chocolates beside them looked harmless until Jamie saw the Tea Room sticker again and felt the same tight pull in her chest.

Someone had listened.

Not through a screen. Not through a post. Through proximity.

Riley hovered near the door, arms folded, eyes fixed on the tag as if it might change shape.

“You said you mentioned The Tea Room once,” Riley said.

Jamie nodded. Her voice came out quieter than she meant it to. “Once.”

“Then someone who heard you decided to use it,” Riley replied. “That is not romance. That is strategy.”

Jamie swallowed. She did not reach for the chocolates. She did not smell the flowers. She took out her phone and photographed the bouquet, the tag, the sticker, and the time on her lock screen. The small act steadied her. It made the situation concrete.

Riley watched her do it, then nodded once. “Good.”

Jamie picked up the tag again. The cream paper felt too familiar. The black edging made it worse.

She set it down and forced herself to breathe slowly. One breath. Then another.

Outside, the residence hallway stayed quiet. Too quiet. No footsteps, no doors opening, no laughter passing by. The gift had been placed and the sender had vanished, which meant the sender had not needed attention. The sender had only needed impact.

Riley reached for her own phone. “Do you want me to message Alex and tell him?”

Jamie hesitated.

Alex had finally opened up last night. He had admitted the vial existed. He had admitted he tried to control damage and made himself a target. He had agreed to counselling. He had not fought her boundaries. That mattered.

Still, Jamie could not ignore what had shifted inside her. The danger did not feel like a single person anymore. It felt like a network of eyes and stories and quiet nudges.

“I will tell him,” Jamie said. “Just not right now. I want to think first.”

Riley did not push. “All right. But we do not sit with this alone.”

Jamie nodded. She had learned that lesson the hard way.

Sleep came in thin pieces. Jamie drifted off, then woke with her mind running, then drifted again. Each time she closed her eyes, she pictured the gift sitting outside the door, waiting like it knew she would return.

Morning did not soften the feeling.

Campus looked normal in daylight. Students moved in clusters, shoulders hunched against cold, coffee cups steaming. Someone laughed too loudly near the entrance to the dining hall. A group of friends argued about an assignment as if that was the only danger in the world.

Normal made Jamie feel worse.

Normal meant CJ could blend into every hallway, every lecture, every line at Tim Hortons, every corner of the library. Normal meant she might pass him without knowing she had.

She walked with Riley toward class, scarf tight around her neck, hands deep in her pockets. Her phone buzzed.

Alex: Are you okay this morning?

Jamie stared at the message. She could picture his expression when he typed it. Concern, cautious hope, and a fear he would not admit out loud.

Jamie: I am okay. Can we meet later today? Somewhere public.

A pause.

Alex: Yes. After your last class? Outside Stauffer?

Jamie: Yes.

Jamie put the phone away and kept walking.

Outside The Brew, two students leaned over a phone, their heads close together. One glanced up as Jamie passed, then looked away too quickly. Jamie’s stomach tightened.

Riley saw it. “Ignore it.”

“I am trying,” Jamie said.

“Trying is good,” Riley replied. “So is choosing what deserves your attention.”

Jamie wanted to believe she could choose. That choice felt harder when attention was already on her.

She made it through class. She took notes. She answered a question when called on. Her voice did not shake, but her mind felt split into two tracks. One followed the lecture. The other tracked exits, faces, whispers, and the quiet weight of being watched.

After class, Jamie stood near the bulletin board outside the lecture hall and pretended to read a flyer about study skills. She was not reading anything. She was listening.

Two students behind her spoke in low voices.

“Did you see the flowers thing?”

Jamie’s pulse flicked upward.

“Yeah,” someone replied. “Apparently it was from CJ.”

Jamie’s breath caught. She kept her eyes on the flyer and forced her body to stay still.

“Who is CJ?” the other asked.

The first student let out a small laugh. “You do not know? He is everywhere. He runs half the group chats. He always knows what is going on before anyone else does.”

Jamie felt Riley’s gaze on her from a few feet away. Riley had paused, pretending to scroll. Her expression shifted from neutral to alert.

The conversation continued.

“He was the one who posted that old Hawthorne screenshot last year,” the first student said. “The one that got shared everywhere.”

“I thought that was just rumor,” the second student replied.

“It was not just a rumor,” the first said. “CJ had receipts. He made it a thing.”

A pause.

“Was that the one where Alex got banned?”

“Yeah. That one.”

Jamie’s mouth went dry.

The name landed inside her like a stone.

CJ.

Not an unknown admirer. Not a random student.

Someone who had shaped stories before.

Jamie turned away from the bulletin board slowly and met Riley’s eyes. Riley did not look surprised. Riley looked grim.

“You heard that,” Jamie said.

Riley nodded. “Enough.”

Jamie’s heart beat harder. The cold hallway air felt suddenly thin. Her mind returned to the tag on the flowers. The neat handwriting. The timing. The way the note pushed her away from Alex while pretending it was care.

A gift that sounded kind. A message that carried intent.

Riley stepped closer. “We do not run with one overheard conversation. We confirm.”

Jamie nodded. Confirmation mattered. Facts mattered. That was the only way to keep fear from becoming the narrator.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, then Riley spoke again.

“Health Promotion and Peer Support Centre is open,” Riley said. “You already planned to see Priya this week, right?”

Jamie hesitated. “I do not want to turn everything into a meeting.”

Riley’s tone stayed gentle. “It is not everything. It is support. There is a difference.”

Jamie exhaled slowly. “Okay.”

The JDUC felt warmer inside, the smell of coffee and winter jackets mingling in the air. Students passed with backpacks and headphones. Someone held the door for them without looking up from their phone. Small normal moments. Jamie clung to them.

On the fourth floor, the Health Promotion and Peer Support Centre offices were quiet. The hallway lighting was softer. The noise from downstairs faded into a low hum.

Priya Singh greeted Jamie with a calm expression and a steady voice. She looked like someone who had learned how to hold other people’s stress without taking it home. Her posture was relaxed, but her attention was sharp.

Riley stayed for the first few minutes, then stepped out at Jamie’s nod. Jamie was grateful for the choice. Alone, but not isolated.

Priya sat across from her. “Tell me what changed since we last spoke.”

Jamie found herself describing the flowers first. The Tea Room chocolates. The tag. The note signed CJ. She described the way the gift made her feel less safe inside her own residence. She described the overheard conversation about Hawthorne and CJ “posting receipts.”

Priya listened without interrupting.

When Jamie finished, Priya nodded once. “What you are describing has two parts. One is emotional, the feeling of being watched. The other is practical, the possibility that someone is crossing boundaries and using information to influence you.”

Jamie’s throat tightened. “That is what it feels like. Influence.”

Priya leaned forward slightly. “Then you treat it as influence. You do not treat it as a compliment. You do not treat it as a private romance. You treat it as behavior that affects your safety and your wellbeing.”

Jamie nodded. Her hands had been clenched in her lap. She forced them open.

Priya continued. “You have done one important thing already. You documented the gift.”

Jamie’s voice came out small. “It felt strange to do.”

“It is not strange,” Priya said. “It is grounding. It reminds your brain that you are acting, not only reacting.”

Jamie let out a slow breath.

Priya’s tone stayed calm. “Now we make a plan that supports you. A plan that keeps you connected, rested, and informed.”

Jamie nodded again. “Okay.”

Priya offered a short exercise, practical and quiet. Jamie planted both feet on the floor, pressed her fingertips together lightly, and focused on the sensation. Priya guided her to name five things she could see, four things she could feel, three things she could hear. The office sharpened into detail. The softness of the chair. The faint buzz of fluorescent lights. The weight of her scarf.

Her heart slowed.

“Better?” Priya asked.

“A little,” Jamie said.

Priya nodded. “Good. Now, the next steps.”

Priya spoke plainly, not like a warning poster but like a person who had seen situations go wrong when people tried to handle them alone.

“First,” Priya said, “you identify who is on your support team. Riley is one. Is there anyone else you trust?”

Jamie thought of her father, then rejected the idea. He would panic. He would want her home. She thought of Alex, then felt the complicated twist in her chest.

“Riley,” Jamie said. “And maybe Alex, but that is complicated.”

Priya did not flinch. “Complicated is fine. You do not have to decide everything today. You choose one step that supports you.”

Jamie nodded.

“Second,” Priya said, “you protect your routine. Fear disrupts sleep, and exhausted brains make worse decisions. You already know that.”

Jamie managed a faint smile. “I do.”

“Third,” Priya continued, “you keep meetings public. You tell someone where you are. You keep your phone charged. Those are not dramatic actions. They are normal ways of managing risk.”

Jamie felt steadier hearing it said that way.

Priya’s gaze stayed gentle. “You are allowed to want romance. You are allowed to be curious. None of that makes you responsible for someone else’s choices.”

Jamie swallowed hard. “I keep thinking I brought this on myself.”

Priya shook her head. “Someone else chose to cross a boundary. Someone else chose to use information as leverage. You did not create that.”

Jamie held onto the words like a handrail.

Before Jamie left, Priya asked one final question. “What do you want, most, from today?”

Jamie did not answer immediately. Her mind went to Alex’s face last night when he admitted the vial existed. The tired honesty. The way he had agreed to counselling without arguing.

“I want truth,” Jamie said finally. “Not just about Hawthorne. About who is shaping this.”

Priya nodded. “Then you keep collecting facts. Not rumors. Facts.”

Jamie left the office with Riley beside her again. The cold in the stairwell felt sharper after the warmth inside, but Jamie’s mind felt clearer.

Outside, the campus seemed less like a maze. It was still crowded. It was still bright. It was still full of strangers. The difference was that Jamie was not moving through it alone.

They reached Stauffer just before the time Jamie and Alex had agreed to meet.

Alex was already there, standing near the entrance with his hands in his pockets. A scarf was wrapped high around his neck. His hair was slightly messy, as if he had run a hand through it too many times while waiting.

When he saw Jamie, his expression softened. Then his eyes flicked to Riley. He looked relieved, not annoyed.

Jamie noticed, and something in her loosened.

“Hi,” Alex said.

“Hi,” Jamie replied.

Riley gave a small nod. “I will stand over there,” she said, moving a few steps away but staying within sight.

Alex watched her go, then looked back at Jamie. His voice lowered. “Is something wrong?”

Jamie did not draw it out. She told him about the flowers and the Tea Room chocolates and the note signed CJ. She told him about the overheard conversation in the hallway. She watched his face carefully as she spoke.

At first, he looked confused.

Then his expression tightened.

Not surprise. Not disbelief.

Recognition.

Jamie’s stomach dipped. “You know him.”

Alex exhaled slowly. “Yes.”

Jamie’s voice stayed steady, but the muscles in her throat were tight. “How?”

Alex hesitated. The pause was small, but it was familiar. Jamie felt frustration flare, then forced herself to breathe.

“No fragments,” she said.

Alex’s eyes met hers. He nodded once. “Okay.”

He glanced around, then spoke quietly. “CJ was around last year. He was not in my circle, but he was close enough to see things and close enough to talk about them.”

Jamie felt cold creep up her spine. “Close enough to post receipts.”

Alex nodded, jaw tight. “Yes.”

Jamie’s voice came out sharper. “Did he start it?”

Alex hesitated again.

Jamie held his gaze. “Alex.”

Alex’s shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath. “He did not start the incident. He helped shape what people believed about it.”

Jamie felt Riley shift slightly in the background.

“How?” Jamie asked.

Alex looked away briefly, then back. “He amplified it. He took pieces of truth and built a narrative that made me the obvious villain. He kept pushing it in group chats. He kept asking questions that sounded neutral but were not.”

Jamie’s mouth went dry. “Why would he do that?”

Alex’s voice dropped. “Attention. Control. Social power. I do not know what he gets out of it now, but he has done it before.”

Jamie stared at him. “And you did not tell me.”

Alex flinched. “I did not want to drag you into it.”

Jamie’s voice stayed level. “I am already in it.”

Alex nodded slowly. “I know.”

Jamie studied his face. She searched for avoidance, for manipulation, for the familiar pattern of hiding behind protection. She saw fear, yes. She saw shame. She saw something like regret.

“Are you still willing to do counselling?” Jamie asked.

Alex answered immediately. “Yes.”

“Today?” Jamie pressed.

Alex swallowed, then nodded. “Yes. If we can book it today, we do it.”

Jamie held his gaze for a beat longer, then nodded. “Good.”

They stood near the library entrance, winter sunlight bouncing off snowbanks. Students passed behind them without noticing. That anonymity should have felt like relief.

It did not.

Jamie’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.

Alex looked at her. “What is it?”

Jamie shook her head. “Not important.”

Riley’s voice carried softly from a few steps away. “Jamie.”

Jamie turned her head slightly. Riley was looking at her with an expression that made Jamie’s stomach tighten again. Riley lifted her phone and held it out.

A screenshot filled the screen.

A group chat. The timestamp was old, but the name at the top was clear.

CJ.

The message, highlighted, was short and sharp.

“Alex has the vial. Watch what he does with it.”

Jamie stared at the words.

Her fingers went cold.

The air around her felt suddenly too thin.

She looked up at Alex.

His face had gone still.

“Where did you get that?” Jamie asked Riley, her voice tight.

Riley’s eyes did not leave Jamie’s face. “Someone sent it to me. A classmate. They said it was circulating again.”

Jamie’s breath caught. “Again.”

Riley nodded once. “Yes.”

Jamie looked back at the screenshot. The message was not a theory. It was not a question. It was an accusation posted like a spark in dry grass.

Her mind jumped to the Tea Room chocolates outside her door. The note. The timing.

CJ was not just watching.

CJ had been steering.

Jamie’s voice came out low. “He did this before.”

Alex did not deny it. His jaw tightened. His eyes looked tired in a way that made Jamie feel both angry and sad.

“Yes,” Alex said quietly. “He did.”

Jamie’s chest tightened so hard she had to force air into her lungs.

The story had changed again.

Not because of a new mystery.

Because the old one had a name.

Cliffhanger

If CJ helped shape the narrative that got Alex banned, what else has he shaped, and how close has he been to Jamie the entire time?