Wednesdays had always belonged to me.
They were a contradiction I had learned to love—both beginning and ending, a quiet bridge between exhaustion and relief. In a strange way, Wednesday felt like both Monday and Friday stitched into one fragile day. There was work to do, yes—lectures, notes, the hum of academic routine—but there was also the promise of escape lingering just ahead, like a shadow of the weekend stretching its fingers toward me.
It always worked for me.
But this Wednesday… something was wrong.
Not wrong in a loud, obvious way. Nothing so simple. It was quieter than that—subtle, creeping, like something unseen brushing past the back of your neck and vanishing before you could turn.
The air felt dull. Heavy.
I could've blamed Yvonne. She wasn't in class, and she hadn't said a word beforehand. Just disappeared, leaving me stranded in a lecture hall that suddenly felt too wide, too empty, too unfamiliar without her beside me. I told myself that was it—that the absence of her voice, her presence, her laughter was enough to make everything feel off.
But even I didn't believe that.
My attention drifted, slipping through the lecture like water through open fingers. I couldn't focus—not on the board, not on the words, not even on the sound of the lecturer's voice as it echoed hollowly across the room.
Still, I noticed things.
I always noticed things.
The lecturer—usually composed—kept glancing down at his phone, again and again, like he was waiting for something… or dreading it. His voice faltered between sentences, just enough to make it unsettling.
The girl beside me wore a faded red shirt. That alone was strange. She was known for her high fashion—sharp, expensive, intentional. Today, she looked washed out, like color had abandoned her.
And then… there were them.
Seven seats away.
Three boys.
They sat too close together, shoulders nearly touching, like they were guarding something invisible between them. I had never seen them before—not once—and I wasn't the type to miss classes or forget faces. After months of the same routine, the same Wednesday pattern, they stood out like stains on clean fabric.
They didn't belong.
A faint unease curled in my stomach.
Yvonne always said I overdid things. That I paid too much attention. That I turned ordinary moments into something else entirely. I wrote everything down—every strange detail, every odd occurrence—in the journal on my phone. I took pictures of things people ignored: birds that stared too long, the moon when it looked dim and lifeless, clouds that gathered too low.
So, naturally, I reached for my phone.
Carefully, quietly, I angled the camera toward them and snapped a picture.
It came out blurry—of course it did. My hands weren't as steady as I wanted them to be. But their faces… their faces were still there. Just enough to keep.
My screen lit up almost immediately.
How's it without me?
Yvonne.
I exhaled softly, irritation flickering through me.
If she were here, I would've hit her. Lightly—but still. She had no idea what it felt like sitting here alone, surrounded by things that didn't make sense.
Still… I missed her.
That thought lingered longer than I expected. Longer than it should have.
The lecture dragged on endlessly. Words blurred together, meaningless, distant. The only thing that seemed to repeat clearly—over and over again—was a single word:
Chloroform.
The lecturer said it like it mattered. Like it carried weight beyond the lesson.
Chemistry had always been my favorite. But not today. Not this Wednesday.
I couldn't tell if it was because Yvonne was gone…
…or because of the boys.
Time slipped by unnoticed until the class was finally dismissed. Chairs scraped against the floor, voices rose, bodies shifted toward the exit.
I turned instinctively to where they had been sitting.
Empty.
Gone.
No trace.
A strange disappointment flickered in my chest—quickly replaced by unease.
Why did I care?
Why was I so curious?
It was ridiculous. Boys missed classes all the time, only to show up near the end of the semester like ghosts trying to reclaim attendance. That was probably all this was.
Probably.
I stood, brushing the thought away, and picked up my pink tote bag—the one Yvonne had knitted for me just a month ago. It felt soft in my grip, familiar, grounding. Inside were my untouched notes and my iPad, both silent witnesses to a lecture I hadn't absorbed.
As I stepped into the hallway, a sharp hunger twisted in my stomach.
I had skipped breakfast.
Not out of discipline or urgency—just laziness. The kind that felt harmless until moments like this.
The outside air hit me immediately.
Cold.
Restless.
The sky had darkened into a thick blanket of grey, clouds gathering low and heavy, as if they were pressing down on the world. The wind moved violently, rushing past me in uneven bursts that tugged at my clothes and whipped my hair across my face.
It was going to rain.
Badly.
Anyone could tell—even without seeing.
My skirt swayed uncontrollably, brushing against my legs as I struggled forward. My eyes narrowed, then shut briefly as I pushed against the wind, my hair completely blinding me.
Step by step, I made my way toward my small Peugeot parked a short distance away.
Almost there.
I fumbled through my bag, trying to find my keys, fingers brushing against notebooks, cables, empty wrappers—anything but what I needed.
My hair clung stubbornly to my face.
And then—
Something shifted.
A presence.
Too close.
Before I could react, before I could turn—
A cloth pressed hard against my nose.
A hand—firm, veiny, not overly muscular but strong enough—held it in place.
The scent hit instantly.
Sharp. Sweet. Wrong.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up. I struggled, jerking forward, my bag slipping from my shoulder and hitting the ground with a dull thud.
My hands clawed at the arm, pushing, pulling—
But I was already getting weaker.
Too fast.
My limbs felt heavy, like something was draining the strength out of me from the inside. My vision blurred, the edges darkening.
What… was happening?
Through the windshield of my car, my fading gaze caught something—
Faces.
Three of them.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
The boys.
The ones from class.
They stood there, watching.
Waiting.
My mouth opened, trying to scream—but nothing came out. No sound. No resistance left to give.
Why?
Why me?
The word echoed uselessly in my mind as everything slipped further away.
And then it clicked.
Chloroform.
The word from the lecture.
The repetition.
The warning I hadn't understood.
Was this what today had been building toward?
My thoughts slowed… fractured… dissolved.
The wind howled somewhere far away, or maybe it was closer—I couldn't tell anymore.
Everything faded.
And just before the darkness swallowed me whole—
I stopped fighting.
And the world disappeared.