The first thing I learned about this place was that silence wasn't empty.
It was aware.
It clung to the walls, lingered in the hallways, slipped between conversations like it was counting secrets. The building looked ordinary—clean floors, polished glass, students moving in practiced routines—but something underneath it felt wrong. Like a lie told too well.
I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and kept walking.
New place.
New name.
No history.
That was how you survived.
I repeated it to myself all morning, words syncing with my steps. Don't stand out. Don't look back. Don't let anyone get close enough to ask questions you can't answer.
Still, the feeling followed me.
That prickle between my shoulder blades. The sense of being measured. Not stared at—assessed.
I slowed near the notice board, pretending to read the schedule posted there. The paper crinkled under my fingers, grounding me. Normal things helped. Lists. Times. Numbers.
People passed behind me, voices blending into static. Laughter. Complaints. Someone arguing about an assignment. Ordinary noise. Safe noise.
Then the air shifted.
It was subtle. Almost nothing. But my body reacted before my mind did. My chest tightened. My fingers curled.
Someone had noticed me.
I didn't turn right away. I'd learned that lesson years ago. You don't acknowledge attention unless you're ready for it. You let it pass. You let people get bored.
I counted my breaths instead.
One.
Two.
Three.
When I finally looked up, the hallway looked the same.
Except for him.
He stood at the far end like he'd always been there, leaning against the lockers with careless precision. Dark clothes. Still posture. Hands loose. Eyes sharp. People moved around him without touching him, as if instinct warned them away.
No one spoke to him.
No one needed to.
And he wasn't watching the hallway.
He was watching me.
Not openly. Not greedily. His gaze didn't roam. It locked. Steady. Focused. Like I was the only variable that hadn't been accounted for.
My stomach sank.
Strangers didn't look at you like that.
They didn't look at you like recognition had just clicked into place.
I looked away, pulse spiking, and started walking. Too fast. I corrected it immediately. Panic attracts attention.
My phone vibrated in my hand.
I stopped.
That wasn't possible. I hadn't shared my number. I hadn't even unpacked my life yet.
Slowly, I looked down.
Unknown Number
You're not as invisible as you think.
My throat tightened. I didn't reply. I never replied to unknown messages. Another rule.
The screen lit again.
Relax. If I wanted you exposed, you'd already be gone.
Cold spread through my fingers.
Gone.
That word carried weight. It always had. It meant erased. Removed. Forgotten on purpose.
I scanned the hallway, heart pounding.
He was still there.
Still watching.
This time, there was something different in his expression. Not surprise. Not curiosity.
Interest.
My phone buzzed again.
They told me you didn't survive.
I swallowed hard.
Survive what?
I already knew the answer. My body remembered even when my mind tried to forget. The nights that never fully left. The silence that followed certain names. The way official stories were written clean while reality bled underneath.
I typed back before I could stop myself.
Who is this?
The reply came instantly.
Someone who hates lies.
A pause.
And you're the biggest one here.
Anger flared—sharp, defensive. I didn't owe anyone explanations. Not here. Not anymore.
I shoved my phone into my bag and forced myself to move. Walking away felt like surrender, but staying felt worse. His gaze followed me—not heavy, not rushed. Patient.
Predatory patience.
I turned a corner, breath shallow, and leaned against the wall. My heart hammered like it was trying to escape first. I pressed my forehead to the cool surface and closed my eyes.
Get it together.
You're safe.
You chose this place because no one would know you.
My phone vibrated again.
I didn't look.
Another vibration.
Then another.
Finally, I pulled it out.
You should be more careful. Some of the people here still remember what happened.
I stared at the screen, a chill sliding down my spine.
What do you want? I typed.
Several seconds passed. Too many.
Then—
To see if you're worth protecting.
My pulse stuttered.
Protecting from what?
Before I could ask, footsteps echoed down the hallway. I looked up.
He stood at the end now.
Closer.
Not invading my space. Not threatening.
Just close enough to be undeniable.
His eyes met mine, dark and unreadable. Up close, he looked even more composed—like chaos was something that happened around him, never to him.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
My phone buzzed one last time.
Don't worry.
I don't worship easily.
His gaze flicked briefly to my bag. My hand. My face.
Then back to my eyes.
But when I do, the text continued,
it's permanent.
He turned and walked away before I could react, disappearing into the crowd like he'd never existed at all.
The silence rushed back in.
I stood there long after he was gone, every instinct screaming the same truth I didn't want to accept.
I hadn't been discovered by accident.
I had been found.
And whatever game he was playing, he'd already decided I was part of it.
Whether I agreed or not.