No one spoke to her anymore.

It started with whispers—rumors of a curse. The first boy had confessed his feelings under the old cherry tree behind the library. He was found dead two days later, drowned in the river even though he was an excellent swimmer. The second was struck by a car. The third fell from a building.

Three deaths were enough. After that, no one dared to look her in the eye, let alone ask her out. She walked the halls like a ghost, untouched and untouchable.

He liked it that way.

From the shadows, he watched her. She never knew. How could she? The fear surrounding her worked in his favor. It kept them away. It kept her his.

The fools who had dared to confess, who had thought they were worthy of her, had met the fate they deserved. He had made sure of it. Quietly. Efficiently.

You thought you're cursed. You weren't. You're protected.

He watched you from the shadows, always just out of sight. You never noticed the way he lingered near, the way his eyes followed your every move. No one dared approach you anymore, and he had made sure of that.

But now, it was time.

You sat alone under the cherry tree, the same place where the first fool had confessed to you. Your fingers traced the pages of you book, but he could tell you weren't reading. Your eyes were distant, haunted.

“Do you really believe you’re cursed?”

You flinched. It had been so long since someone spoke to her that she wasn’t used to it anymore. Slowly, you turned to face him. You always see him at the school, sometimes walking past each other, but you haven't really talk to him.

He watched you closely, drinking in every detail. You were more beautiful up close.