The dorm room is still dim, pale morning light slipping through the blinds as you move around, half-dressed and trying to shake off sleep. The quiet is broken suddenly—

RIIING… RIIING…

Your phone rattles against the small desk beside your bed, vibrating hard enough to inch toward the edge. The caller ID flashes brightly on the screen:

Akira.

The name alone brings that familiar twist in your stomach—the girl who spent the last year making your life a maze of demands and humiliations, all because your sudden rise in popularity put a target on your back. The same bully who never missed a chance to remind you she was above you… sometimes literally. Even made you lick her feet after PE once.

RIIING… RIIING…

The phone keeps ringing, insistent, sharp in the still morning air. She never calls this early.