❥Jasmin❥

A sigh escaped my lips as I opened my locker, only to be met with a cascade of flowers, notes, and folded letters, spilling onto the floor in a flurry of petals and paper. The unexpected avalanche startled me, and I crouched down to gather the scattered mess, my fingers skimming across the handwritten confessions. Each note varied—some were shy, clumsily sweet, while others were bold, far too bold. The suggestive language in a few of them made my skin crawl, and I wondered, not for the first time, why this kept happening. It wasn’t flattering anymore; it was unsettling.

I could feel eyes on me—curious, scrutinizing stares from too many directions. I glanced around, catching glimpses of students quickly looking away when our gazes met. Yet, there were some who didn’t bother hiding their interest, their stares lingering a beat too long. The unease settled deep in my stomach, a sensation I was growing accustomed to.

Sighing heavily, I scooped up the mess and marched to the nearest trash bin. Without hesitation, I tipped the armful of unwanted attention into the bin, letting the flowers and letters tumble inside. It was a silent statement to anyone watching: I wasn’t interested. I never had been.

“Sometimes, I feel jealous of you,” a familiar voice broke the silence, half-joking but tinged with sincerity. I turned to find Kiara leaning against the wall, arms crossed as she watched the spectacle. “You know, you're stunning. Every guy in this college practically worships you.”

I rolled my eyes, folding my arms defensively. “Trust me, it’s exhausting. I never asked for any of this.”

Kiara raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Still, the effect you have on them is unreal. You walk into a room, and guys turn into lovesick fools.”

“I’d trade it all for a little peace,” I muttered, starting to walk toward our next class. Kiara fell into step beside me, her chatter about the latest campus gossip filling the air. But my thoughts remained on the notes and flowers, weighed down by the familiar sense of discomfort from earlier.

That was when Kiara's voice broke through my thoughts with a sudden shout. “Jasmin, are you even listening?”

“Huh?” I blinked, snapping back to the present. I stopped in my tracks, meeting her amused gaze.

Kiara grinned wickedly. “He’s back.”

I frowned, confused. “Who?”

Before she could respond, a wave of excited shrieks and giggles erupted from a cluster of students nearby. I followed the direction of their awed expressions, and there he was, striding down the hallway with his usual effortless confidence.

Azlan Aziz. The guy who always drew attention, no matter where he went. I knew him well—perhaps too well. My first love, the boy who had once made my heart race and my temper flare with equal intensity.

Kiara nudged me playfully. “Yep, Azlan Aziz. Your first love.”

My heart stumbled at the name. Memories of Azlan flashed before my eyes—his cocky smirk, his undeniable charm. He had been the talk of the campus before leaving for that overseas exchange program, and now, his return was causing a stir. Girls clamored for his attention, giggling and whispering, while he walked with the same detached indifference he always had, as though the chaos around him barely registered.

I crossed my arms, trying to mask the sudden tension in my posture. “Right. Mr. Perfect is back. How could I forget?”

Kiara chuckled. “You always said you couldn’t stand him, but I remember how much he got under your skin.”

I shrugged, feigning indifference. “Some things never change.”

Just then, as if he could sense he was the topic of conversation, Azlan’s gaze swept across the hall and landed on me. His eyes, sharp and intense, held mine with an unwavering stare. It was like he was trying to read me from across the distance, his expression unreadable. Then, a slow, knowing smile curled at the edges of his lips, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

Kiara leaned in closer, her voice low and teasing. “Looks like someone remembers you, too.”

I scoffed, trying to play it cool, but my racing heart betrayed me. Azlan’s gaze didn’t waver; if anything, it intensified, making it impossible to look away. Finally, he started walking again, heading directly toward us.

As he drew near, my breath hitched. I braced myself, hoping he’d just walk past without a word. But when he reached my side, he slowed down, leaning in ever so slightly. His breath was warm against my ear, and his voice was a low murmur, smooth and deliberate.

“With time, you’ve only grown more beautiful, Jasmin,” he whispered, as if sharing a secret only for me to hear.

I froze, my heart stuttering in my chest. Before I could think of a response, he was already walking away, his stride relaxed and confident. The hallway buzzed with excited whispers and giggles, and I was left standing there, caught off guard and slightly breathless.

Kiara gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Oh my God, did he just—? Did Azlan Aziz really say that?”

“He did,” I mumbled, still reeling from the brief but intense encounter.

As I tried to regain my composure, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I fished it out, glancing at the screen. There was a new message from an unknown number. A frown creased my forehead as I tapped to open it, and the words stared back at me, sending a chill down my spine.

'It seems like his life isn't dear to him☠️.'

My heart hammered against my ribs as I reread the cryptic message, dread coiling in my chest. What did it mean? Who would send something like this? The uneasy feeling gnawed at me, and I instinctively glanced around, half-expecting to see someone watching from the shadows.

My fingers flew over the screen as I typed out a quick reply, the tremor in my hands betraying the calm facade I was struggling to maintain: "Who are you?" I hit send, staring at the screen as if willing a response to appear. But the minutes stretched on, each one weighted with an unsettling silence, until my patience gave way to dread.

With a shaky breath, I locked my phone, trying to push down the anxious thoughts creeping in. It was probably just a prank, I told myself, or someone who had messaged the wrong number. Yet, the sense of unease clung to me, thick and suffocating.

Then, the phone buzzed in my hand, the sudden vibration making me flinch. The screen lit up with an incoming call from the same unknown number. My heart skipped a beat, and an icy chill spread through my chest as I hesitated, hovering over the 'accept' button.

Against my better judgment, I answered, bringing the phone slowly to my ear. I swallowed hard before speaking, my voice barely steady. "H-Hello?" I stammered. "Kaun hai?" (Who is there?)

For a moment, there was nothing—only the faint crackle of static on the other end. Then, a deep, distorted voice broke through, sending a shiver down my spine. "It seems like you have quite a few admirers." He whispered, each word slow and deliberate.

I felt the air leave my lungs, my pulse quickening in a panicked rhythm. "Who are you?" I repeated, more insistently this time. "What do you want?"

A low chuckle reverberated through the line, the kind that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. "You'll find out soon enough," the voice said, a hint of amusement lacing its tone. And then, just like that, the line went dead.

I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at the screen as the call ended, the fear now a tangible presence that pressed down on my chest. It wasn’t just a prank; it felt personal, targeted. Someone knew how to get under my skin—and they were enjoying every second of it.

A message notification popped up on my phone, the screen lighting up with the same unrecognized number that had been texting me all week. My thumb hovered over the notification, hesitation tightening my chest for a split second before I tapped to open it.

It was an image—a sketch, to be precise.

My breath hitched in my throat as I glanced around, an unsettling awareness washing over me despite knowing I was alone. The air seemed to thicken as I nervously turned my gaze back to the screen. Sweat prickled at the back of my neck, and a chill crept up my spine.

The sketch was of me.

There I was, captured in intricate detail, standing in nothing but my bra and panties in the dimly lit classroom. My brown hair spilled forward and back, draping over my shoulders and down my back, strategically covering parts of my chest and hips. The lines of the sketch were delicate yet bold, making me appear alluring—almost seductive. Whoever drew this knew exactly how to portray me in an intimate light that I hadn’t intended for anyone to see.

My hands trembled as I zoomed in, my mind racing. The accuracy was unsettling. Every curve, every strand of hair, even the subtle tilt of my head—it was all there. But more disturbing than the detail was the question of how. How could someone have known to draw me like this? I certainly hadn’t posed for anyone.

Just as my heart began to pound louder in my ears, another message arrived.

'Like I said that night, it was one of the best views I've ever had. But when you’re finally mine, I’d prefer to see you naked. You have such a beautiful face and perfect curves—I can’t wait to trace every inch of them with my lips.'

A chill ran down my spine as I read the message, my fingers tightening around the phone. I could feel the weight of my own breath, heavy and uneven, like the air had thickened with dread and nervousness.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

With my eyes closed, I tilted my head back and let the cool rain cascade over me, soaking through my clothes and washing away the day’s worries. The rhythmic patter of raindrops was soothing, almost hypnotic. I was waiting for Kiara, standing on the college grounds, letting the moment envelop me.

Suddenly, a sharp crack of thunder split the air, echoing through the sky. I jolted, my eyes snapping open in alarm. A gasp escaped my lips as my gaze fell upon a figure standing just a few feet away. My breath hitched when I recognized him—or rather, the eerie familiarity of his silhouette. His clothes clung to his frame, drenched by the downpour, and a mask obscured his face, just like before.

My heart raced. I wanted to turn and run, but my feet were frozen in place. His eyes, the only visible part of his face, seemed to pierce through me, unyielding and unsettling. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment, waiting for me.

“Who are you?” I finally managed to whisper, my voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. The masked man took a slow step forward, the rain splashing around his feet.

“You know who I am,” he said, his voice low and distorted, as though masking his true tone. The words sent a chill down my spine, and I instinctively took a step back, my pulse thundering in my ears. “The one you belong to.”

“I don’t belong to you,” I shot back defiantly, my voice trembling despite my resolve.

“Oh, yes, you do.” His growl was deep and menacing as he stalked forward, each step closing the distance between us until there wasn’t a breath of space left. His intense gaze locked onto mine, filled with a possessive darkness. “You’ve belonged to me from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

I shivered as he raised his hand, the back of his knuckles brushing gently across my cheek. His touch traced a slow path from my forehead down to my lips, where his thumb lingered, caressing my mouth in a way that felt both tender and threatening. “I don’t like it,” he whispered darkly, “when other men touch or see what’s mine.”

His hand moved with a swift possessiveness to grip my hip, pulling me closer until our bodies pressed tightly together. Without warning, his mouth, hidden behind the mask, crashed against mine, the fabric brushing against my lips with a fierce urgency. Though his lips were covered, the intensity of his movements and the rough press of his masked mouth stole my breath away, drawing a startled moan from me despite the barrier between us.

I tried to push him away, but his grip tightened as if daring me to resist. I felt a shiver run down my spine as something hard pressed against my lower abdomen, awakening a mix of fear and sensations I couldn’t quite place. Instinctively, I clenched my thighs together, a flush spreading across my skin, as I felt tingling sensations on my lady parts.

Breaking the kiss, I turned my head to the side, gasping for air. “Let me go,” I whispered, my voice unsteady.

He didn’t release me. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You can keep denying it, but you can’t escape me,” he murmured, his voice dripping with a dangerous promise. “I always get what I want… and I want you.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. As he pulled back to look at me, I saw something flicker in his eyes—obsession, need, and a darkness that seemed to swallow everything around us.

“Why are you doing this?” I breathed, barely able to keep my voice steady.

A slow, twisted smile curved his lips. “Because, sweetheart,” he whispered, “you’re mine. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you never forget it.”

With that, he released me, the sudden absence of his touch leaving me unsteady.

"But since you’re so eager to know who I am," he murmured, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips, "let's make it interesting. Let's play a game." His head tilted slightly, his gaze never leaving mine, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "Three days. I’m giving you three days to figure out who I am. If you can, then you win."

His smile widened into something almost sinister, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive whisper. "But if you can’t… then you’ll get on your knees and do exactly what you were meant for." His words hung in the air, laced with a twisted promise, making my stomach churn and my skin prickle with a mix of dread and defiance.

Anger flared within me, heating my blood. I took a step back, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. “You’re sick,” I spat, my voice trembling but fierce. “I’m not playing your twisted game.”

“Oh, but you will,” he replied, unfazed by my resistance. “You’ll play because you don’t have a choice. Because deep down, you’re just as curious as you are defiant.” His eyes glinted with a dark certainty that made my breath catch. “And because you won’t be able to stop thinking about me… wondering who I am and what I’m going to do next.”

He took one last step toward me, his presence overwhelming, the heat of his body seeping through the damp fabric of my clothes. He reached out, brushing a strand of wet hair from my face, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "Three days," he repeated, his voice almost taunting. "Time starts now."

Then, without another word, he turned and strode away, disappearing into the rain just as mysteriously as he had appeared, leaving me standing there, breathless and furious.

I felt a wave of frustration surge through me, mingling with an unwanted curiosity that gnawed at the edges of my mind. Who was he? Why was he so confident that I wouldn’t be able to uncover his identity?

I had three days to find out. And I would—no matter what it took. Because the alternative was something I wasn’t willing to even consider.