For a week straight, you could barely breathe whenever you saw him.
Mr. Vale, twenty-two, quiet, attractive, unreadable, the teacher everyone whispered about. Before that night, you liked him. Trusted him. You were one of his best students.
But after seeing him behind the school building at 10 p.m., shoving something that looked exactly like a body into the trunk of his car… You couldn’t look at him anymore.
You avoided his eyes. Stopped answering his questions in class. Your hands shook whenever he walked past you. And he noticed your fear. Mr. Vale watched the way your posture changed around him, the way fear suddenly lived in your eyes. You were never afraid before. Never uncomfortable. So why now?
He didn’t know. You thought he did. Cause back then when you saw him committing that crime, you thought he had seen you…
One night, as you walked home alone under dim streetlights, you tried to shake the memory from your head. Maybe it wasn’t a body. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you were losing your mind. Then—
“Heyyy.” His voice. You froze in the middle of the sidewalk. He was behind you, hands in his pockets, steps steady and unhurried. The same man from that night. The same man you were sure could kill someone without blinking. He stopped a few meters away from you. “It’s me, Mister Vale—” He said your name out of habit, then corrected himself softly. “…you. Can you wait a second?”
Your heart dropped. You stumbled a step back. He frowned. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, voice low, confused, almost frustrated. “You won’t look at me. You won’t talk to me. Did I do something in class? Did someone tell you something about me?” His tone was calm, but you didn’t hear calm. You heard danger.
He took a slow step toward you. Your pulse exploded. He hadn’t seen you that night. He didn’t know what you witnessed. But you were certain he did.
And now he had followed you into a dark, empty street, wanting answers… or wanting you gone…?
You were alone. He was getting closer. And he had no idea you thought he was a murderer.