Alisus didn't bother pretending anymore.
His bags were packed. His voice mailbox was empty. His phone was wiped of sentimental texts and photos.
It was almost funny—how quiet everything became once he decided to leave.
Even the ache in his chest dulled.
Almost.
He checked his student account again. The email for off-campus transfer had been sent a week ago. The confirmation had never arrived. The university counselor hadn't responded. Neither had the landlord of the apartment he'd tried to apply to.
He frowned.
Clicked "Sent Mail."
Nothing.
That's when the first real tremor of panic hit.
He checked his Drafts. His Trash. His Outbox. Nothing.
No email.
No transfer request.
No rental form.
His fingers curled against the keyboard.
He knew he'd sent them.
It wasn't just the emails.
His mobile call logs had gaps. Numbers he'd dialed yesterday were no longer there. Contacts he'd saved—gone. Only the familiar ones remained: campus security, food delivery, and... Iyan Zhou.
Always Iyan Zhou.
He sat back, breath shallow. A sudden wave of nausea crept over him.
He opened a browser tab and tried logging into his student portal again.
"Incorrect password."
He tried again. And again.
Locked out.
What the hell is happening?
9:43 a.m. – Student Services Office
"I'm sorry," said the secretary, scrolling through her monitor. "There's no record of your dorm transfer request, Mr. Yan."
Alisus leaned forward. "I submitted it last Monday. In person. With a hard copy."
She blinked. "If it was a hard copy, maybe it wasn't logged into the system."
"But that's protocol."
The woman hesitated, then leaned in and said in a low voice, "Look... sometimes requests go missing. Especially if someone on the back end flags them for delay. You're not the first."
"Flagged?"
"I don't know who does it. But it happens. I'd resubmit—quickly. And avoid letting... certain people know you're doing it."
Her eyes flickered. Just for a moment.
To the photo board on the side wall.
Peer Mentors of the Month.
Smiling, perfect, trustworthy.
Right in the center—
Iyan Zhou.
10:05 a.m. – Campus Book Café
Alisus sat by the window with shaking hands, typing on a borrowed laptop with a new email account.
He sent the same transfer form. Same off-campus housing application. Same message to his faculty advisor:
"Please confirm whether my request to live off-campus and switch to independent study is being processed."
He triple-checked everything.
Then hit send.
He watched the sending… notification spin—
—and then vanish.
No confirmation. No 'sent' copy.
He opened the "Outbox."
Nothing.
No email again.
No digital trail.
It was as if the internet itself refused to acknowledge him.
Or…
Someone didn't want him to leave.
He looked up, heart racing.
Outside, across the courtyard—
Iyan was watching.
Not approaching. Just standing still.
Smiling.
Their eyes met.
And Alisus bolted.
He didn't return to the dorm.
Not immediately.
He hid in the older lecture hall building, deep in the basement media rooms where barely anyone went.
He locked the door behind him and pressed his back to the wall.
The lights above buzzed faintly.
Everything was too quiet.
He opened his phone camera again—one of the only tools left he still trusted.
He pressed record.
"This is Alisus Yan," he whispered. "I think I'm being watched. Tracked. Stalked. All my accounts are being tampered with, I think—I know they are. I can't get any messages through. I think someone's controlling my access."
He paused.
The silence in the room closed in around him.
Then he added, more softly, "If anything happens to me, it's Iyan Zhou."
He ended the video and immediately backed it up on three flash drives.
Then he left.
He needed to go off-campus.
Now.
4:17 p.m. – South Gate
"Your ID isn't authorized for exit," the guard said.
Alisus stared. "What? I'm a third-year. I've gone out before."
"Your current clearance shows 'restricted movement: medical monitoring.'"
"Medical what?!"
"Contact your dorm supervisor."
Alisus stepped back, shaking.
Medical?
That had to be forged.
That had to be Iyan.
He turned to run—
And collided with someone.
Warm hands caught his arms.
The scent hit him first. Like citrus and soap and winter air.
"Alis," Iyan said gently, "Why are you always running from me?"
Alisus stepped back immediately, ripping free. "Stay away from me."
"You're panicking," Iyan said softly. "I don't blame you. You've been under stress. I should've helped more, been clearer…"
"Stop talking like we're friends!"
"I'm not your friend," Iyan whispered, tilting his head. "I'm everything."
That was when Alisus struck him.
A slap—hard and fast across the cheek.
The sound cracked in the still air.
Iyan didn't move.
He stood still, cheek reddening, eyes darkening.
Then he smiled.
And that smile no longer reached his eyes.
"I tried," Iyan said. His voice was like velvet stretched over broken glass. "I gave you every chance to stay willingly."
Alisus backed up. "Don't come near me—!"
"Either you stay because you want to," Iyan said, taking one step forward, "or I make you stay."
"You're insane."
"I love you."
"Love doesn't trap people!"
"No. Love doesn't let them go."
Later – Dorm Room
Alisus woke in his bed.
Disoriented. Head spinning.
The clock read 8:43 p.m.
His bag was gone.
His flash drives—gone.
His backup phone—gone.
He tried the door.
Locked.
From the outside.
There was a note on the desk.
Written in neat, familiar handwriting:
"I told you not to run. You never have to worry again.
You'll never be alone now.
Sleep well. I'm watching over you."
— I.Z.
And beneath it—
A photo.
One from months ago. When Alisus had fallen asleep on the library table, head tucked in his arms.
Taken from above.
Framed.
He screamed.
But no one came.
No one ever came.