Max pulled his hoodie up and adjusted his mask before stepping out. He hated the way people looked at him now—as if they knew everything about his life. Every glance felt like a whisper, every whisper like a judgment. It made his skin crawl.
At college, he avoided the usual hangouts. He walked fast, kept his head down, and ignored the people who pointed and giggled. Jack noticed it first. Max wasn't talking much anymore. He was easily irritated, eyes always scanning the surroundings like he expected someone to jump out at him.
In the cafeteria, Max was filling his bottle when a group of students approached, the same ones who'd laughed at the post earlier. One of them smirked and said, "You brought another sugar daddy today, Max?"
Max froze, then turned slowly to face them. "You got a problem?" he said, his voice low but steady.
The student laughed. "Relax. Just asking—maybe next time invite us to the party too?"
This time, Max didn't look away. He stepped forward. "Say it again."
The group hesitated. They weren't expecting a response like that. Before anyone could speak again, Jack walked over and stood behind Max. "Anything you want to say, say it to both of us," he said coldly.
The group backed off, muttering under their breath. Max didn't say a word. He just walked away, his fists clenched.
That night, at the apartment, Lucas noticed the tension. Max had barely touched his food, and his eyes were darker than usual—tired, distant. Lucas sat beside him and asked softly, "What's going on, Max? You've changed."
Max wanted to say it. He wanted to scream everything—to talk about the post, the fear, the anger, the stalker. But he couldn't. Not yet.
"I'm just tired," Max said, his voice almost a whisper.
Lucas looked at him, worry written all over his face. "Whatever it is… I'm still on your side. You know that, right?"
Max nodded and smiled weakly. "I know."
The next day, Max opened his locker to grab his books—and froze.
There was a folded note resting neatly on top of them.
He slowly opened it.
> "You looked happier with your guest. Miss him?"
Attached was a photo. It was grainy, taken from a distance—but clear enough to show Lucas standing in front of Max's apartment building, suitcase in hand. The day he came to stay.
Max's chest tightened.
So the stalker had been watching long before the recent post. That meant this wasn't just some casual hater online. Someone had been planning this.
He looked around quickly, stuffing the note into his hoodie pocket. His heart was racing, but not from fear this time.
From fury.
He walked out of the building, gripping the note tightly. His breath came in heavy bursts as he whispered under it,
"You picked the wrong person to mess with."
---
To be continued…