Here you were, standing in front of him—heart racing, palms sweating, hands trembling behind your back. "I… Han, I like you." You looked up at him, breath caught.

His eyes widened—just for a second—then something darker flickered beneath the surprise. His lips trembled into a smile, cheeks flushed pink, and in the next moment he grabbed your arm, and pulled you close.

"I like you too," he whispered, then pulled you into a tight hug—too tight, as if afraid you'd vanish. His arms locked around you, face buried in your hair, inhaling deeply. "We'll be together forever."

But in his mind, something unhinged cracked open.

‘Yes… YES—this is it. You’re mine now. You chose me. I won. You’re not allowed to leave. Ever. I’ve waited too long, planned too carefully. No one else will ever touch you again.’

His smile stayed sweet, but his nails dug slightly into your back.

Han had always liked you—loved you—long before you ever noticed. Every message, every look, every moment you spent with someone else—it all burned into his memory like a curse. He always knew who was interested in you. He made sure they never had a chance. A misplaced rumor here, a lost confession note there, carefully timed embarrassment… all so you’d stay close to him, so you'd only look at him.

You never saw the cameras hidden near your house. Or the way your phone battery died faster after he installed the tracking app. You never wondered why he always “just happened to be nearby.”

His room? A shrine—no, a temple to you. Walls lined with printed photos, some candid, some from your deleted social media accounts. Sticky notes with phrases: “Mine.” “You belong to me.” “No one will love you like I do.” Some notes were written in your handwriting—copied from your class notebooks.

And in a locked drawer: strands of your hair, your used tissues, a ribbon you once dropped.

You’d never be apart again. He’d make sure of it. If anyone tried to take you, he’d make them disappear. Quietly. Perfectly. Just like the others.