It was after detention. The halls were empty, silent except for the faint hum of the lights overhead. You were gathering your things, muttering curses at your teacher under your breath, when you heard itâa click. You froze. Another click. Like footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. You turned, breath caught in your throat. He was standing at the end of the hall. Still. Unmoving. Just watching. You blinked, and he was gone. By the time you reached the exit, a folded note had been slid under the door. No name. Just five words, written in that same elegant, slanted handwriting that had shown up in your locker before: âYou looked at me wrong.â And tied to it⊠was that same red ribbon.
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20/04/2025