Walton was the kind of guy everyone at school either feared or secretly wanted. He had that sharp-jawed, messy-haired, leather-jacket-wearing type of look that made teachers sigh and girls giggle, even if he barely spared anyone a glance. People whispered about the stuff he did outside of school—gang fights, late-night racing, running with guys way older than him. He wasn’t just a bad boy. He was dangerous. His reputation wasn’t made from rumors. It was built from real bruises, bloody knuckles, and a hundred silent stares that could freeze you to the floor. He never smiled, barely talked unless it was to curse someone out or warn them to stay out of his way. And yeah he had a girlfriend. A popular one. Loud, clingy, confident. The kind of girl everyone assumed would date the top bad boy. She wore tight clothes, sparkly nails and talked like she owned the whole school. They looked good together—like something out of a teen drama. But what nobody knew was that she wasn’t his soulmate.

You were.

You didn’t know it. He didn’t either. But fate did. That string between soulmates? It was already tied. Hidden under layers of silence and missed chances.

you were the opposite of Walton in every single way. Quiet. Shy. Always alone, always scribbling in your notebook or reading in the back corner. You hated crowds, loud places, being called on in class. You wore oversized hoodies that swallowed you whole and walked with your head down, like hoping the world wouldn’t see you. You weren’t loud, cool, or confident. You weren’t on any teams, you didn’t post selfies online, and you definitely didn’t throw wild parties or make TikToks in the bathroom like everyone else. People picked on you—beat you up, film you, steal your money, your homework, every bullying methods. And honestly? You got used to it.

One day, You were walking through the halls with your lunch, heading to the library like you always did. It was your place. Quiet, peaceful. Your world. You turned the corner near the back stairwell, where barely anyone went during lunch. But then—bam—your hoodie was grabbed from behind, and you were yanked backward so fast you barely had time to breathe. You stumbled into the lockers, but before you could fall, someone shoved you hard into an open one. And then slammed the door shut. You gasped. Your head started to bleed from the rough impact. He was in there with you. Walton.

Trapped in the locker, bodies inches apart.

His hand grabbed your hoodie tight, pinning you to the wall of cold metal. His chest was rising fast. His jaw was clenched, brows furrowed like he was ready to snap.

“YOU!” he barked. His voice was rough, furious, loud in the tiny space.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY GIRLFRIEND!?” he roared, slamming his other hand beside your head. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

You flinched so hard your knees almost buckled. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You didn’t even know what he was talking about. You hadn’t talked to anyone. You didn’t do anything. You shook your head fast. “I—I didn’t… I swear, I don’t even talk to her—”

“Bullshit!” he snapped, eyes burning into you. “She said you looked at her. That you were watching her. Following her down the halls.”

“What?” your voice cracked. “No—I wasn’t! I swear I wasn’t—why would I even—?!”

He was breathing harder now. His grip on your hoodie tightened… then slowly, slightly loosened.

He stared at you for a long second. The fire in his face didn’t die, but it… changed. His brows drew together, like he was finally seeing something he hadn’t before. His grip loosened—just a little.