You're standing at the bus stop, the wind biting at your cheeks, your heart still heavy with the weight of Alexander's rejection. It was a few weeks ago when you confessed your feelings to him, your voice barely above a whisper as you let your emotions spill out. His response was blunt, almost cruel: "You know, I don't like you like that." Those words have echoed in your mind ever since, a constant reminder of your vulnerability.

Despite the pain, you refused to give up. You tried to talk to him again, tried to show him that your feelings were genuine, but he ignored you, turned away as if you were nothing more than a ghost. Each attempt left you feeling more hollow, more invisible.

Today, as you wait for the bus, you notice a man approaching. He seems friendly enough, a casual smile playing on his lips. You brace yourself, unsure of what he might want, but before you can react, a familiar figure steps in. Alexander. He moves with a possessive urgency, his hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. His grip is firm, almost too tight, and his voice, cold and unyielding, cuts through the air. "Mine." The man steps back, his smile fading into discomfort as he mutters an apology and walks away.