It started with the feeling.
The kind that sits at the back of your neck before your mind catches up.
The day felt normal on the surface. Classes. Notes. Bells. The usual rhythm. But something underneath it all felt… misaligned. Like a chair slightly pulled back. Like a door not fully shut.
Ruhan noticed it before I did.
"You feel it too?" he asked quietly, as we walked down the corridor.
"Feel what?"
"Being watched."
I didn't laugh.
Because suddenly, I did feel it.
At lunch, two boys stood near the staircase longer than necessary. When Ruhan looked up, they turned away too quickly. During chemistry, a folded paper slipped onto his desk — blank. No message. Just presence.
The teacher didn't see it. Or pretended not to.
After school, the sky darkened faster than it should have. Clouds rolled in, heavy and low, winter preparing something again.
"I'll drop you," Ruhan said, already reaching for his cycle.
We barely made it past the main road when I noticed it.
Footsteps.
Too steady to be accidental.Too close to be coincidence.
I turned slightly. Two figures. Hoods up. Walking fast.
"Ruhan," I whispered. "Don't stop."
He didn't.
His grip tightened on the handles, pedaling faster, shoulders tense but controlled.
The footsteps followed.
Not running.Matching us.
My heart hammered.
"Turn left," I said instinctively. "Near the closed shop."
He did.
The road narrowed. Streetlights flickered on, one by one, weak and yellow.
The footsteps slowed.
Then stopped.
We didn't stop pedaling until we reached the main street again, lights brighter, people around.
Only then did Ruhan slow down.
I could feel his breathing through the back of his jacket — steady, but barely.
"They didn't say anything," I said.
"They didn't need to," he replied.
We rode the rest of the way in silence.
At my gate, he stopped but didn't get down.
"This is because of me," he said quietly.
"No," I said immediately. "It's because you didn't disappear."
He looked at me, eyes dark now. Protective. Alert.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he said.
I shook my head. "We don't let fear decide again. Not now."
He nodded slowly.
As I went inside, I glanced back.
He was still there — watching the road this time, not me.
And I realized something that made my stomach twist:
This wasn't gossip anymore.
It wasn't whispers or looks.
Something had crossed a line.
And once fear learns it can walk beside you quietly —
it doesn't stop on its own.