The hallway was quieter now. Most students had already left, their footsteps fading into the hum of the campus outside. Elira walked slowly, her fingers brushing the wall, as if grounding herself with every step. The silence around her didn't comfort—it pressed in, heavy and cold.
Behind her, someone watched.
Not with eyes full of curiosity or judgment. But with something deeper. Something still. Like they were waiting.
But Elira didn't notice.
Her mind was clouded with questions. About the way Lucien looked at her. About the words he said. About the strange weight in her chest that hadn't left since she heard him speak.
She didn't see the shadow that moved near the stairwell. A figure stood still, half-hidden, watching her with unreadable eyes. Not close. Not far. Just there.
The breeze from the open window lifted a piece of paper from Elira's notebook. She bent to pick it up, fingers trembling again. The wind felt colder now. Like it carried something with it.
Her phone buzzed.
Zayn: "Are you okay?"
Her breath hitched. The name alone felt like a nail in her spine. She stared at the screen.
How did he still have the power to make her heart pause?
She didn't reply. Not at first.
The same boy who watched her bleed. Who smiled when she cried. Who whispered love while handing her over to death.
Zayn: "Can we talk? Please."
She typed.
Then deleted it.
Typed again.
Deleted.
Finally, she sent:
"Why?"
His reply came fast.
Zayn: "Because you look tired. Lost. I just… I just want to check on you."
Tired?
She laughed. A small, broken sound. She wasn't tired. She was reborn.
But not for him.
Still, something in her couldn't ignore it. That stupid, human piece of her that once believed him.
She found herself walking toward the garden near the old library. A place few students visited anymore. The path was lined with cracked stones and half-dead bushes. She sat on a bench, arms wrapped around herself.
Ten minutes passed.
Then she heard footsteps.
Zayn.
He looked the same. Soft sweater. Hands in pockets. That fake concern on his face like it was painted there.
He sat beside her without asking.
Silence.
She didn't speak. Neither did he. For a moment, it felt like the past. Like the times they used to sit like this.
But then she looked at him.
Really looked.
And she saw it. The hollowness. The cracks under his calm.
He spoke first.
"I didn't think you'd reply."
"I shouldn't have."
He looked down, fingers curling around the edge of the bench.
"I was wrong," he whispered. "I was scared. My mom—she said you weren't right for us. That you were just… temporary."
Elira didn't move. She stared ahead.
Zayn continued, "But you weren't. You were never temporary to me."
Lies.
Words, wrapped in softness, made to look like apologies.
But apologies don't come after blood.
"You left me to die," she said, voice quiet.
He flinched.
"I didn't know it would go that far," he said quickly. "I thought it was just to scare you. My mother—she…"
"She watched."
Zayn's voice cracked. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't bring back the girl you killed."
His eyes met hers.
Elira finally turned her head, locking eyes with him.
"Yes," she said, voice soft. "She is."
Zayn looked away. His hand moved slightly, like he wanted to touch her. She pulled back.
"Don't," she said.
He nodded slowly.
"You don't have to forgive me," he whispered.
"I won't."
More silence.
A bird flew overhead. The wind stirred again.
Zayn looked at her, voice shaking. "But if you ever need anything. Ever. I'll be there."
She stood.
"You were never there."
She walked away, leaving him sitting alone.
From behind a tree, the watcher remained. Eyes fixed not on Zayn, but on her.
They didn't move. Didn't blink.
They had no name.
Not yet.
But they knew hers.
And they weren't watching to protect.
They were watching to decide.
The next day, Elira walked into class like nothing happened. Her face calm. Eyes steady. But inside, a storm twisted.
Zayn had messaged her again last night. And again this morning.
Zayn: "Good morning, sleepyhead .
She wanted to block him.
But no. That would be too easy.
She had a better idea.
So she replied.
Elira: "Morning "
Zayn showed up twenty minutes later at the cafeteria with a tray full of snacks.
"Your favorite," he said, smiling like he hadn't destroyed her.
She looked at the the Orange juice, the chocolate bar.
Wow. Such a caring murderer.
She smiled sweetly. "You remembered."
He sat down next to her, too close.
"I remember everything about you."
She almost rolled her eyes, but instead, she leaned her head on his shoulder.
"That's sweet," she whispered.
His whole body stiffened. Like he didn't expect her to play along.
But she wasn't playing.
She was setting the stage.
"Are you free after class?" he asked. "I thought maybe we could go to the cafe.Talk more. You know, spend time. Like old times."
Old times? The ones that ended in blood?
She giggled. "I'd love to."
He looked suspicious. "You sure?"
She nodded. "I miss you."
Lie.
Zayn's face softened. "I missed you too. So much. Every day, I thought about you. Wished I could take everything back."
She bit into the chocolate bar. "You can't take back a murder, Zayn."
He choked on his juice. "W-What?"
She smiled. "Nothing. Just kidding."
He laughed nervously. "Right. Haha. You're so dark sometimes."
Dark? She was born again in the dark.
Later, at the cafe, he pulled out a chair for her.
She sat, crossing her legs slowly. He watched her like she was made of glass.
"I've changed, Elira. I'm not the same guy."
She tilted her head. "How?"
"I stopped talking to that girl. You know, the one from before."
Her voice stayed soft. "The one you held hands with while I was dying?"
He blinked. "It wasn't like that."
"Of course not. It was a romantic execution."
He looked away, face turning red.
"Elira, I'm serious."
She reached over and touched his hand. "I believe you."
His eyes lit up. "Really?"
No.
He started talking fast. About dreams, the future, moving away, starting fresh. "We could go somewhere new. Start over. Just us. You and me. Like it should have been."
Should have been where? Her grave?
She kept smiling.
He leaned closer. "You still love me, right?"
Elira blinked slowly. "Of course I do."
If love meant rage burning in silence.
"Say it," he whispered.
She touched his cheek. "I love you, Zayn."
He melted.
Inside, she was laughing.
He ordered her favorite cake. He wiped chocolate from her lips. He played with her fingers.
She giggled and teased. She leaned on his shoulder. She laughed at his terrible jokes.
All while imagining smashing the plate over his head.
When he dropped her back near her dorm, he held her hands.
"Will you dream of me?" he asked.
"I always do," she said.
He smiled so hard she thought his face would crack.
When he left, she turned around slowly.
And the smile vanished.
Gone. Like it had never existed.
She walked into her room and threw her bag on the floor.
Her hands were shaking.
Not from pain. From the effort of pretending.
She looked into the mirror.
And there it was again.
That feeling.
Someone was watching.
From somewhere close.
Her reflection stared back.
But for a second—just a second—it didn't blink when she did.
She stepped back.
Silence.
Then her phone buzzed again.
Zayn: "I had the best day today. Can we do it again tomorrow?"
She stared at it.
Then typed:
"Yes "
Let him believe.