after all the gossip about me and Asael spread like wildfire, I logged out of every social media app.
I didn't want to read another filthy comment or meme with my face edited beside his.
But peace didn't last.
Next morning,
when I entered class, someone shouted "slut!" from the back.
I didn't even look.
My fingers gripped the strap of my bag, knuckles whitening.
Mira tugged my arm gently and pulled me toward our desk. "Ignore them," she whispered.
I nodded, pretending it didn't sting. Pretending I didn't feel every stare burning through my skin.
Then the door opened. Ryle walked in limping.
And beside him, Nina, his favorite shadow, clutching his arm like she was nursing some fragile saint.
The room erupted in sympathy.
"What happened, bro?"
"You okay?"
"Man, that looks painful!"
He smiled faintly .. fake, pitiful and said,
"I… fell. From the library stairs. Yesterday."
The words echoed in my head like a bad joke. Yesterday...!
The same day I broke down.
The same day I cried.
My phone buzzed.
A: "I told you, your tears aren't priceless."
My breath hitched. The screen blurred for a moment before I typed back, hands trembling:
Me: "Are you insane? That's a crime."
The reply came instantly, cold and calm.
A: "He tortured you before emotionally, physically. I know everything, Elina. Don't tell me what's crime and what's not. I'm not a hero. I'm not a good boy."
I stared at the screen, my pulse loud in my ears.
And then..like a cruel flashback..his words bled into my memory.
Ryle's hand. The slap. The sting.
His voice, full of disgust: "You can't even make love properly."
My desperate whisper: "Then teach me…"
But he didn't teach. He hit. Again and again. Until love became something I feared.
"Great," Mira's voice snapped me back. "I don't have any sympathy for Ryle. Karma has a sense of humour."
I forced a small smile, though my insides twisted.
Because even if I wanted to hate A
the masked stranger, the stalker ..
part of me couldn't ignore the truth.
He wasn't lying.
He knew what Ryle did.
And somehow, that made everything more terrifying.
Mira was scrolling on her phone..
her eyes wide
"Elina, you won't believe this," she said.
"All your posts .. the ones people tagged, all those nasty things ... they're gone. Like… poof."
I frowned. "Gone? What do you mean gone?"
She nodded, scrolling fast.
"Look! It's like some big-level hacker did a deep clean of the internet just for you. Everything is showing 'unavailable.' Even the reposts."
My stomach dropped. I took my phone from bag, logged back in ..half-expecting something worse.
But she was right.
Nothing bad.
No comments. No tags.
It was like the whole mess never happened.
Who did this?
My first instinct was to message him.
I typed
"Did you do this?"
Then paused.
Deleted it.
I wasn't even sure if I wanted to know.
Just then, the classroom door opened.
Everyone fell silent.
Asael walked in...
Calm. Composed.
But his eyes
they found me in seconds.
And for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Asael entered the classroom like he always did...calm, crisp, and painfully perfect.
No reaction to the whispers. No glance at the girls blushing.
Just pure, clinical focus.
"Today," he said, dropping his notes on the desk, "we start with the anatomy of the heart."
His voice… steady, deep, familiar enough to crawl under my skin.
He explained each chamber like he built it himself, sketching diagrams with surgeon-level precision.
Students kept staring like he was some walking K-drama teaser poster.
I just tried not to look at his lips again.
When the bell rang, he closed the session with his usual direct tone:
"Before next week, each of you will submit your individual cardiac project. Topics are assigned randomly. No extensions."
Everyone groaned.
He continued, eyes scanning the room sharply:
"If you have questions, you may visit my office. Only if the question actually requires my expertise.
Anyone wasting my time with silly doubts,your marks will be reduced."
Half the class sat up straighter.
The warning wasn't subtle.
And somehow… it felt like it was also for me.
I checked my assigned topic.
Pacemaker functioning.
Damn..!!
Pacemaker explanations weren't beginner-friendly.
I needed references, clarifications, diagrams… a whole lecture.
I spent the next two hours in the library, borrowing every book remotely related to cardiology.
Still, I had more doubts than answers.
I didn't want more rumors.
I didn't want Asael calling me again in front of the whole class.
I didn't want another round of "slut" whispers.
But I also didn't want to fail.
And I definitely didn't want Asael's disappointed stare on my head next week.
I sighed, clutching the books to my chest.
So I made a decision.
No matter the gossip.
No matter A's shadow breathing over my life.
No matter how the universe seemed to be teasing my sanity...
I needed help.
And Asael was the only one who could give it.
My heart thumped painfully as I walked toward the staff building.
I stood outside Asael's office for a full minute like an idiot, rehearsing questions in my head.
What is the difference between atrial pacing and ventricular pacing?
How does the sensing mechanism work?
What exactly is capture threshold?
All valid doubts.
All important.
All sounding stupid in my head.
And the last thing I wanted was Asael lowering his lashes, tilting his head, and quietly judging my brain cells.
Nope.
Not today.
So I… turned around and walked straight out of the staff corridor.
Pathetic? Yes.
Peaceful? Also yes.
I reached home, took a shower like washing away all academic sins, and made myself a hot chocolate.
The warmth helped my cramps, my nerves, my existence.
I spread my books on the table and attempted to focus.
A diagram.
A definition.
Three lines.
Four doubts.
Zero brain.
And then
my phone vibrated.
A: Need any help, My Ruin?
I blinked.
Of course.
Of course he knew I was struggling.
Of course he texted like an omniscient demon boyfriend.
I sighed and replied:
Me: yeah… actually. But it's study related.
Before I could type another word, my phone exploded with notifications.
He sent: • links to cardiac physiology websites
• pacemaker animations
• research PDFs
• screenshots from textbooks
• highlighted sections
• diagrams
• even a perfectly organized summary someone would only prepare if they had no social life
My jaw dropped.
He was… scarily good at this.
Almost too good.
Then another message popped:
A: Wanted to do your entire assignment, but I don't want to spoil you, darling.
I know you're capable enough.
I stared at the text.
"OMG," I muttered. "This creepy one is actually… a master of anatomy? How?"
I typed:
Me: how do you know anatomy this much?? are you doing a phd on it??
His reply came instantly:
A: Hahaha… no, baby.
Right now I'm doing a PhD on you.
I choked on my hot chocolate.
Me: oh f**k you
My cheeks were burning like I swallowed the sun.
I shouldn't blush.
I shouldn't feel anything.
He's a masked psycho with apparently 18 degrees.
And yet…
I was blushing like a thirteen-year-old with a crush.
I clicked through each link he sent--research papers, diagrams, even a high-level surgical video about pacemaker implantation. He had highlighted timestamps, added small notes like "skip this part, boring" and "focus here, this will impress him."
My lips twitched.
He's annoying, creepy, too flirty…and very, very helpful.
Me: Thanks…this actually saves a lot of time.
A: I know. I'm perfect. Anyway, go work now, My Ruin.
Me: Stop calling me that.
A: Never.
I rolled my eyes so hard they almost fell out. Still...my chest felt warm.
I opened the books I borrowed from the library, arranged everything neatly on my desk, took a sip of my hot chocolate, and forced my mind into "serious anatomy mode."
Finally, around midnight, as the last paragraph of my assignment came together, my eyes began to blur.
I leaned back in my chair, stretching, a small victorious smile on my face.
Done. Almost....yay!!!
I picked up my phone one last time.
Me: Finished. Thanks…for sending all those links.
Three dots appeared instantly.
A: My Good girl.
My breath caught...annoyed, embarrassed, flustered....everything at once.
Me: I'm going to sleep. Don't message.
A: Dream of me.
I threw my phone onto the pillow and crawled into bed, burying half my face under the blanket.
I wasn't going to dream of him. Obviously not. That would be ridiculous.
…But as my eyes fluttered shut, still warm from the hot chocolate and the victory of finishing my work, a tiny, treacherous thought slipped in again--
How does he always know?
Before I could chase the thought, sleep pulled me under.
And far away
my phone vibrated once more.
A message.
But the screen went dark before I could ever read it.