The college gates stood exactly where they always had.
Unchanged.
Unbothered.
Students moved in and out in careless clusters—laughing, arguing, dragging their feet toward lectures like the world hadn't shifted overnight.
Like nothing had broken.
Trisha stood just outside for a moment longer than necessary, her fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her bag.
This used to feel normal.
Now it felt like stepping into something fragile.
Something she might shatter just by being here.
"Are you going in," Seraphina's voice came from beside her, smooth and composed, "or are we admiring architecture?"
Trisha glanced at her—and immediately exhaled in disbelief.
"You cannot be serious."
Seraphina looked immaculate.
Sharp black blazer. Tailored trousers. Heels that clicked like a warning even when she wasn't moving. Sunglasses resting lightly against her hair like she had walked out of a boardroom instead of into a college campus.
People were already staring.
Of course they were.
"I told you this would happen," Trisha muttered.
Seraphina didn't seem remotely concerned. Her gaze swept across the campus slowly, not curious—calculating.
"Let them look."
"This isn't a fashion show."
"No," Seraphina said calmly, "it's a system."
Trisha blinked. "What?"
"A poorly managed one," she added lightly. "But fixable."
Trisha stared at her.
"You're not here to fix my college."
Seraphina's lips curved faintly. "We'll see."
That did not sound reassuring.
Trisha exhaled, shaking her head. "Just… stay out of trouble."
"I don't get into trouble."
"You are trouble."
That almost earned a smile.
Almost.
Seraphina's expression shifted slightly—quieter now, more focused.
"I'll be nearby," she said. "Go."
There was something in her tone that made Trisha pause.
Not command.
Not control.
Something closer to… assurance.
She nodded once.
And stepped inside.
*****
The noise hit immediately.
Voices layered over voices. Footsteps echoing across concrete. Laughter spilling from open corridors.
Familiar.
Overwhelming.
"Trisha?!"
She barely had time to react before someone grabbed her arm.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Sonya , Her friend's voice was sharp—relief buried under irritation.
"I—"
"Three days," she cut in. "Three days, Trisha. No calls, no messages, nothing. You just disappeared."
A few students nearby slowed, glancing over.
Great.
"I needed time," Trisha said quickly.
"For what? Vanishing?"
Trisha forced a small smile. "I'm here now."
Sonya didn't look convinced.
"You've been off for months, even since you took that new job ," she added, quieter now but no less pointed.
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because they were true.
"I'll fix it," Trisha said, more firmly this time.
She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.
Sonya studied her for a second longer, then sighed. "You better."
Trisha nodded.
And walked away before the conversation could go deeper.
*****
She didn't even make it to class.
"Trisha Hart."
Her steps faltered.
That voice—
sharp, clipped, unmistakably authoritative.
She turned slowly.
Three seniors stood near the corridor, arms crossed, expressions unreadable.
Watching her.
Waiting.
"You remember this place?" one of them asked dryly.
A couple of students nearby lingered just enough to listen.
Of course.
"I—"
"Save it," another said. "Where were you?"
"Personal reasons—"
"Not acceptable."
The words snapped clean through her attempt at composure.
"You think you can disappear for days without informing anyone?" the first one continued. "This isn't school. This is medical college."
Each word landed harder.
"And this," the third added, stepping closer, "is not new behavior."
Her jaw tightened.
"You've been distracted for months," he said. "Barely present during rotations. Missed submissions. Weak participation."
Heat rose to her face.
"I'll catch up—"
"You should have kept up."
Silence.
Heavy.
Public.
Unforgiving.
"If this were internship," one of them added, voice dropping slightly, "you'd already be reported."
That stung.
Badly.
"Get your act together, Trisha," the first one said finally. "Out there—" he gestured toward the hospital wing, "—no one cares about your personal issues."
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.
"Understood?"
She swallowed.
"…Yes."
They didn't wait for anything else.
Just walked past her like she wasn't worth another second.
Trisha stood there for a moment longer than she should have.
Then inhaled slowly.
Get it together.
And forced herself forward.
*****
The hospital felt different.
Quieter.
More controlled.
The sharp scent of antiseptic cut through everything else, grounding in a way the campus hadn't been.
"Join the round." Attending Doctor said.
She fell into step with the group, forcing her mind to shift.
Patients.
Vitals.
Charts.
This she understood.
This used to be easy.
They moved from bed to bed, discussing cases. Questions were asked—others answered.
She stayed quiet.
Focused.
Until—
"Take this to the transfusion unit."
Senior nurse handed her a blood bag.
Trisha took it automatically.
Warm.
Too warm.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the plastic.
Dark red filled the bag, thick and heavy.
For a second—
her mind didn't stay in the hospital.
It drifted.
To a dimly lit room.
To a crystal glass.
To Rowan lifting it slowly to his lips, completely unfazed.
Calm.
Controlled.
Like it was nothing.
Like it was normal.
Her stomach twisted.
The bag in her hand suddenly felt heavier.
More real.
More wrong.
He drinks this.
The thought hit sharp.
Not abstract.
Not distant.
Real.
She swallowed hard, forcing her gaze forward.
Focus.
This was different.
This was medicine.
This saved lives.
That—
was something else entirely.
"Trisha?"
She blinked.
The Senior nurse was looking at her.
"You going or planning to stand here all day?"
"Sorry," she muttered quickly, moving.
But the image didn't leave.
It stayed—
quiet.
Lingering.
Unsettling.
*****
By the time she stepped out of the hospital wing, her head felt heavier than before.
The campus noise returned.
Loud.
Chaotic.
Almost too much.
She exhaled slowly—
and froze.
Seraphina.
Walking beside the Dean.
Like this was planned.
Like she belonged there.
Trisha frowned slightly, stepping closer.
"…Sera…?"
The Dean turned, smiling warmly. "Ah, Ms. Hart."
Her confusion deepened.
"Do you know Ms. Seraphina?" he asked.
There was a pause.
Brief.
But enough.
Trisha glanced at Seraphina.
Her expression was calm.
Expectant.
Like she already knew the answer.
"Yes," Trisha said.
The Dean's smile widened slightly.
"Interesting."
"She's the reason I came in today," Seraphina said, the words slipping out .
Technically true.
But still—
Seraphina's gaze flicked to her.
Amused.
Then—
"She has potential," Seraphina said smoothly.
Trisha blinked.
That wasn't what she expected.
"And initiative," Seraphina continued, her tone effortless. "In fact, Trisha is the one who motivated me to come here today."
The words landed—
hard.
Trisha turned toward her fully now.
What?
"She has an entrepreneurial spirit," Seraphina added.
The Dean nodded, clearly impressed. "That's rare."
Trisha stared at her.
Shocked.
Completely.
Because this—
this wasn't casual.
This wasn't just conversation.
This was positioning.
Power.
And somehow—
she had just been placed at the center of it.
"I see," the Dean said thoughtfully. "We need more students like that."
Trisha forced a small nod, still trying to process.
Seraphina didn't even look at her.
Like this was normal.
Like she hadn't just shifted the narrative entirely.
*****
"Trisha!"
She turned.
And the tension in her chest eased just slightly.
Daniel.
Relief hit before she could stop it.
"Where have you been?" he asked, stepping closer. "I've been trying to reach you. How are you feeling now?"
"I'm okay," she said quickly.
He didn't look convinced.
"You just disappeared after our date."
"I needed some time."
His gaze softened, but concern didn't leave. "You could've told me. I could've helped you."
"I know. But -"
A brief silence settled between them.
Then—
his attention shifted.
To Seraphina.
Standing just slightly behind her.
Watching.
Observing.
"Uh…" Daniel hesitated.
Trisha straightened. "Daniel, this is Seraphina. A friend."
Seraphina inclined her head slightly. "So this is Daniel.…Hi.."
Her voice was smooth.
Controlled.
Daniel nodded slowly. "Hi."
But something in his expression shifted.
Subtle.
Uneasy.
Like he couldn't quite place it.
His gaze flicked back to Trisha.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked quietly.
Seraphina noticed that.
Of course she did.
"I am," Trisha said.
Daniel studied her for another second.
Then nodded.
"Text me later?"
"I will."
He hesitated.
Then walked away.
Seraphina's gaze followed him briefly.
Then returned to Trisha.
"He cares about you. He likes you."
"He's my friend."
" Yes, Friend you had a date with,"
Seraphina said.
But the silence carried weight.
*****
The corridor had emptied slightly by the time Trisha reached her locker.
Finally.
Something simple.
Something normal.
She exhaled, pulling it open.
And froze.
A folded piece of paper sat inside.
Her heart stuttered.
Slow.
Heavy.
She reached for it.
Unfolded it.
" You will remember everything,"
Her breath caught.
Everything around her seemed to dull.
Mute.
Like the world had stepped back.
"Trisha."
Seraphina's voice.
Different now.
Sharp.
Alert.
"What is it?"
She didn't speak.
Just handed her the note.
Seraphina read it.
And the shift was immediate.
Gone was the ease.
Gone was the amusement.
What remained—
was cold.
"We're leaving."
No hesitation.
No room for argument.
"Now."
Trisha's pulse spiked. "He was here?"
Seraphina's gaze hardened.
"Closer than we thought."
Trisha's fingers tightened around the locker door.
He was here.
Not distant.
Not watching from shadows miles away.
Here.
Near her.
Maybe watching.
Maybe waiting.
The illusion cracked again.
Fast.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
She shut the locker slowly.
Her heartbeat uneven.
Loud.
"This isn't over, is it?" she whispered.
Seraphina didn't answer immediately.
She didn't need to.
"Come," she said instead.
And this time—
Trisha didn't argue.
Because she understood now.
Normal wasn't something she could return to.
Not fully.
Not anymore.
And somewhere—
far from the safety of campus walls—
someone was already making his next move.
Waiting—
for her to remember.