Theodore closed the stack of files with a sharp snap, his eyes zeroing in on Amaira. The air in the room shifted as his gaze bore into her, heavy and intense. Amaira felt her pulse quicken under the weight of his scrutiny, her breath catching in her throat. Why was he looking at her like that? There was something in his eyes—something she couldn’t place.

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the way her heart started racing. She didn’t know why, but there was something familiar about him, even though they’d only just met... hadn’t they?

"Mr.Theodore?" she asked, her voice unsteady, trying to mask the nervous energy that was building inside her.

He leaned back in his chair, his posture rigid, unyielding. "It’s been a long time, Amaira," he said, his voice carrying an edge that made her stomach tighten. His words weren’t just casual—they felt like a challenge.

Amaira frowned, her confusion growing. "I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. Have we met before?"

Theodore’s lips curled into a tight, humorless smile. "You don’t remember, do you?" His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable tension behind it.

She blinked, her mind racing. She didn’t know what he was talking about, but the way he looked at her, with a mixture of frustration and something else—something deeper—made her heart thud louder in her chest.

"Maybe I can help jog your memory," he said, leaning forward. His eyes locked onto hers, unrelenting, demanding her attention. "When you were fifteen, we went to the same school. I was your senior—a year older than you."

Amaira’s brow furrowed as she tried to recall those years, but nothing came to mind. Theodore’s words hung in the air, heavy and expectant, like he was waiting for her to piece it together. But nothing clicked.

"You don’t remember, do you?" he said again, this time more clipped, like her forgetting was an insult. He continued, not waiting for her to answer. "You were bullied—brutally. They targeted you, made you feel like you didn’t belong. One day, it went too far. You almost died."

Amaira’s breath caught in her throat. A hazy, disjointed memory surfaced—falling down stairs, the sensation of helplessness, pain. She gasped softly, her mind scrambling to fill in the blanks. But the person who had saved her...

"You were pushed," Theodore said, his voice hard. "Down the stairs near the back of the school. You would’ve died if I hadn’t pulled you up."

Her eyes widened, the fragments of that day falling into place. She remembered the panic, the terror—but most of all, she remembered being saved, a hand reaching out for hers, a boy’s face blurred by shock. But it wasn’t just that. Something deeper lingered in her mind.

"I remember..." Amaira whispered, her voice trembling. "I remember someone saving me. But I didn’t know who it was."

"It was me," Theodore said, his tone final. "I pulled you out of that mess, Amaira. I was there."

Her mind raced, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of memories. She had never known who had been her savior. She had never had the chance to thank him. But now, sitting across from him, the realization of what she had missed weighed on her.

"Theodore..." she began, unsure of what to say. Gratitude, guilt, and confusion tangled in her chest.

"You don’t need to thank me," he said, cutting her off, his voice still hard. "Because you already did. You promised me something that day."

Amaira’s stomach dropped. A promise?

"What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Theodore’s eyes darkened, and he stood, slowly walking around the desk until he was standing right in front of her. "You were unconscious for hours after the fall. When you finally woke up, you were scared, confused. But I was there."

Her heart thudded painfully as the image of that day became clearer. She remembered waking up in the nurse’s office, her body aching, her mind still foggy with fear. And there had been someone by her side... him.

"You said you would do anything for me," Theodore said, his voice low, demanding. "You promised. You told me that if I ever needed anything, I only had to ask, and you’d do it. No questions."

Amaira’s eyes widened. She hadn’t realized—she had been so grateful, so desperate to express her thanks that she had said it without thinking. "I didn’t—"

"You meant it," Theodore interrupted, his tone firm. "You made that promise, Amaira."

Her mouth went dry. "But I... I transferred schools after that. My parents made me switch. I didn’t have a choice."

Theodore let out a humorless laugh. "And that’s where you left me, didn’t you? You made a promise, then disappeared without a word."

Amaira’s heart sank. She hadn’t thought about it that way. She had been trying to escape the trauma, trying to move on. But to him, it must have seemed like she had walked away, leaving her debt unpaid.

"I didn’t mean to," she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of guilt. "I didn’t know. I never meant to break that promise."

Theodore leaned down, his face inches from hers, his eyes searching hers for something—remorse, perhaps. "Well, now you know. And I’m here to collect."

Her breath hitched, her pulse quickening. "Collect?" she repeated, the word hanging between them ominously.

"You promised you’d do anything I asked," Theodore said, his voice unwavering. "And now I’m asking."

Amaira’s mind spun. What could he possibly want after all this time? What had he been waiting for, holding onto this promise for so long?

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice small, fragile.

Theodore straightened, his gaze never leaving hers. "I’ll let you know when the time is right," he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "But trust me, Amaira. I will ask. And when I do, you’d better keep your word."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her sitting there, her heart pounding and her mind reeling from the sudden turn of events. She had made a promise all those years ago, and now it seemed Theodore wasn’t going to let her forget it.