Today should have been a normal day.
Classes, coffee, and a few of Andre's ridiculous lawyer jokes that always make me roll my eyes — in the soft way, not the annoyed one. But the day felt off from the moment I woke up.
It started as a whisper of unease. Like being watched — not in a terrifying way, but as though someone's gaze followed me quietly, from far away. I felt it on my skin, in the back of my mind, all through my morning classes.
Andre noticed first.
"You're distracted," he teased, leaning closer with that boyish grin. "Thinking about me again? I should start charging for emotional rent."
I laughed, mostly to hide the truth — that I'd caught a flicker of movement near the science block earlier, someone half-hidden behind the fountain.
Just a glimpse.
But I saw enough.
Silver hair, short and uneven, like it caught the light wrong. Ocean-blue eyes — cold, distant, but beautiful in the most haunting way. And around his neck, I swear I saw ink — tattoos that disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.
When I blinked, he was gone.
Maybe he was never there.
---
At lunch, Andre and I sat beneath our usual tree, our "spot," as he calls it. He was trying to convince me that law students are more romantic than med students — an argument he was absolutely losing.
"Doctors break hearts with diagnoses," he said, pretending to pout.
"And lawyers break them with contracts," I replied, smiling despite myself.
He laughed, but his laughter didn't completely reach me today. My gaze kept drifting past him, to the far end of the courtyard. Searching.
"Viv?" he asked softly. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just tired."
But I wasn't fine. Because when I looked up again, I thought I saw him — that same silver-haired figure, standing near the main building, watching. Not moving. Just… there. And then, like before, gone.
---
After classes, I couldn't shake the feeling. My reflection in the hallway mirrors looked back at me, eyes too alert, too aware. Andre met me by the dorm gates, his smile as warm as ever. He reached for my hand, fingers threading through mine naturally, protectively.
"You've been quiet all day," he said. "Talk to me."
I hesitated, then whispered, "I think someone's been watching me."
He frowned — not angry, not dismissive, just worried. "Do you know who?"
I shook my head. "I only saw him once. Maybe twice. He looked… familiar. But I can't remember where from."
Andre squeezed my hand gently. "You don't have to figure it out right now. Whoever it is — he won't hurt you. You're safe, Viv. You've got me."
---
That night, back in my dorm, I wrote all this down, the unease refusing to fade.
Silver hair. Ocean-blue eyes. Tattoos curling like shadows at his neck.
He didn't look cruel. Just… lost. Watching me like I was something he'd once known.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
Because what if he had?
What if he was from the six months I can't remember?