You Don’t Care About Me, Oh But That Makes Me Want You

You had always been the kind of person who thrived on attention. You weren't needy, but she liked to be noticed. And usually, you were. Whether it was your infectious laughter or the way you carried yourself with effortless confidence, people gravitated toward you.

That’s why Rafe was a problem.

He was different from anyone she’d met—quiet, brooding, and completely uninterested in her. He wasn’t rude, but he never gave you more than a passing glance. In a crowded room, you felt like a shadow to him, invisible and unimportant. It should have made you walk away.

Instead, it made you obsessed.

You first saw him at an open mic night, strumming a worn-out guitar with a cigarette tucked behind his ear. His voice was rough, filled with something deeper than sadness—regret, maybe. You watched from the back of the bar, waiting for the moment when their eyes would meet and he would acknowledge you.

It never happened.

You started showing up at his gigs. You learned the lyrics to his songs, studying them like puzzle pieces that might reveal something about him. You laughed too loudly when he was near, tossed your hair, wore dresses that made heads turn. But never his.

It wasn’t until a rainy night outside a dive bar that something shifted. Rafe was leaning against the brick wall, a cigarette between his fingers, watching the raindrops pool on the pavement.

“You always stare,” he said without looking at you.

You froze, heart racing. “Maybe you’re just interesting.”

He chuckled, low and humorless. “Or maybe you just want things you can’t have.”

That should have been enough to make you stop. But it wasn’t.

you pushed harder, showing up in his world, getting to know the people who knew him. And slowly, cracks began to show. You learned about the girl who broke his heart, the family he barely spoke to, the dreams he used to have before he decided they weren’t worth chasing.