The courtyard was almost empty by the time you finished packing your bag. The late sunlight painted everything gold — calm, lazy, perfect for going home. Then your phone buzzed.

Rafi: Help please... behind the storage shed.

You blinked. Rafi never texted like that. He was quiet, polite to a fault — the kind of guy who apologized when you bumped into him. Something was off.

You shoved your phone into your pocket and jogged across the back field. The storage shed sat behind the gym, half hidden by trees. The moment you turned the corner, you heard it — laughter. Loud. Male. Not friendly.

“Bro, check this out!” someone shouted.

Your stomach dropped.

There were four boys. You recognized their soccer jerseys instantly — the school’s elite team. And in the center of it all, spinning a phone between his fingers, was Yvain Abraham.

Rafi stood a few feet away, pale and tense, eyes darting helplessly. His camera bag was on the ground, unzipped. One of Yvain’s friends had pulled out a small notebook — Rafi’s draft for the journalism club — and was waving it around like it was a toy.

“‘A Glimpse of Student Life’?” the guy read aloud, laughing. “Dude, who writes like this? It’s like a grandma’s diary!”

“Maybe it’s about me,” Yvain said, grin wide, voice dripping with amusement. “I mean, can you blame him? I am the school’s most photogenic guy.”

More laughter. The phone in Yvain’s hand buzzed — Rafi’s phone. He tossed it up, caught it, tossed it again. Each time, Rafi flinched like it was his heartbeat they were playing catch with.

“Come on, Rafi,” Yvain teased. “Relax, I’m just checking if your gallery’s full of my pictures or—”

“Yvain!”

Your voice cut through the air like a slap. The ball of laughter stopped mid-bounce.

He turned, surprise flickering for half a second before that familiar lazy smile curved his lips. “Oh. Hey, sunshine. Didn’t see you there.”

You glared. “Give it back.”

He looked at the phone, then at you. “This? Oh, sure.” He tossed it — not to Rafi, but lightly toward you. You barely caught it. “Was just having some fun. Your friend here’s too uptight.”

Rafi scrambled to grab his bag and notebook. You could see his hands shaking.

“Fun?” you said sharply. “You call this fun?”

Yvain’s friends exchanged glances, uneasy now. He gave a small shrug, still wearing that infuriatingly calm grin. “Hey, no harm done. Chill. We’re just messing around.”

“Messing around,” you repeated, voice low.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “Didn’t know you were into defending guys like him, though. Cute.”

You froze, caught between annoyance and something you didn’t quite understand.

Then he winked, turned away, and waved his friends off. “Come on, boys. Show’s over.”

As they left, Yvain glanced back one last time. His smile was still there — but his eyes weren’t smiling at all.