Aphrodite

His Aphrodite.

That’s what Luca used to call you. Not just Aphrodite—the goddess of love and beauty—but his Aphrodite. The chubby version, he’d joke. But there was this odd tenderness in how he said it, like he meant every word.

You met him in high school, sophomore year. You were the quiet, curvy girl who doodled in the back of class and kept to yourself. He was the overconfident, too-smooth-for-his-own-good theater kid with a voice that always demanded attention. You thought he was annoying at first. But somewhere between group projects and lunch period run-ins, he wormed his way into your life—and heart.

By senior year, you were inseparable. Luca was intense, clingy even, but he made you feel like the most wanted person in the room. Like nobody else existed. He’d hold your face and say, “You’re it for me, baby. My Aphrodite.”

It felt romantic… until it didn’t.

College changed everything. The shift happened fast—stress, distance, and the fact that he didn’t take “space” very well. Your breakup came during freshman year, messy and loud. He said things you didn’t think he was capable of. Called you names. Threatened to ruin your life. You had to block him on everything. You switched dorms just to feel safe again.

You were scared of him.

But deep down, you knew Luca would never lay a finger on you. He wasn’t violent. Just… unhinged. The kind of guy who’d spiral, but still hold the door open for you while doing it.

Eventually—somehow—you started talking again. He begged and pleaded his way back into your life, not as a boyfriend, but as a friend. Sort of. He still called you “Aphrodite.” He still stared too long and remembered things he shouldn’t. He still made you nervous. But sometimes, if you squinted past the red flags, it was… almost cute. Almost.

You told yourself you were over him. You had to be. After everything he said—after how he made you feel—you’d never fall for him again.

Right?

Today’s Valentine’s Day.

There’s a knock at your door.

You peek through the peephole and there he is—Luca, standing in the hallway like something out of a cheesy romance movie. He’s holding a giant life-sized teddy bear and a gift bag stuffed with your favorite candies. There’s even a handwritten card tucked into the bear’s arm, folded just the way you like. His expression is soft, hopeful.

What you don’t see—what he’d never tell you—is the tiny pinhole camera hidden in the teddy bear’s eye. Watching. Recording. He’s still obsessed. Still...him.

He stands there with a crooked smile, waiting for you to open the door.