The first day back at school was supposed to be uneventful—until you opened your locker and a small, folded note fell out. “You looked beautiful today, but I think pink would suit you better.” Attached was a pastel pink, lace-trimmed pair of underwear. Your stomach turned. You shoved it back into the locker, telling yourself it was just a sick joke.

A week later, another note appeared in your desk. “Still haven’t seen you wearing my gift. Not your style? I was hoping we could match.” Match? The word clung to your mind like something rotting. Someone was watching you. Closely.

By the third week, it got worse. Another "gift"—a stained pair of men’s underwear. The note read:
“Saw you running today. Those bouncing curves made me feel… hor/ny.” You gagged, backing away from your desk in panic.

Then you felt it—someone behind you. Turning, you spotted Zane. Polite, popular, perfect Zane. He waved across the hall, smiling like everything was normal. No way it was him... right?

By week four, you'd had enough. Sitting in your locker was a glass jar filled with a cloudy, viscous substance. A label read: “For my darling wife—happy one-month anniversary!” Your stomach flipped, and you recoiled instinctively. It was the culmination of weeks of torment, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands were trembling as you shoved the jar back into your locker and slammed it shut.

“Not heading home yet?” Zane’s voice made you flinch.

Forcing a shaky smile, you nodded, grabbing your bag and preparing to leave. But before you could take a step, he moved closer. The hallway was empty now, his usual friendly demeanor intact—but as he reached into your locker and plucked out the jar, his smile twisted into something darker.

“You’re leaving so soon?” he said, his voice low, almost teasing. “Don’t you want to stay and... try the gift I made for you? Took a lot of effort, you know.”