The next day feels heavier than usual. The air is thick with unspoken tension, like everyone at school is holding their breath, waiting for something. It's as if the walls themselves are whispering secrets—secrets no one wants to hear.
I can't stop thinking about what happened yesterday. The library. The boy. That message. The more I replay it in my head, the more questions arise. What was he trying to warn me about? And what did he mean by "You don't belong in this story"?
I try to shake the feeling off, but it sticks to me like a shadow. When I step into school, the world feels different. Everything is too quiet, the chatter of students muffled as if I'm moving through a dream. But this isn't a dream—it's real. And I can feel the weight of it pressing down on me with every step I take.
My eyes wander to the familiar faces of my classmates, but something's off about them. The girl who sits two rows over in math, her smile looks fake today. The boy in the hallway who always cracks jokes—his laugh sounds hollow. It's as if everyone's playing their part in a script they're all too afraid to break from.
The bell rings, and I head to class, trying to focus on anything other than the feeling that something is watching me. I make my way down the hall, keeping my head down, but then I see him again. The boy from the library. His figure is hard to miss—his dark clothes, the way he stands apart from the rest, a silent observer. He's by the lockers, looking lost in thought, his eyes vacant.
I freeze for a moment, watching him from a distance. He's different today—calmer, more controlled. But there's something about him that still sends a chill down my spine.
Without thinking, I walk toward him, my feet moving of their own accord. As I get closer, I feel the atmosphere around me shift. It's subtle at first, like a low hum under my skin, but the closer I get, the stronger it becomes.
When I'm just a few feet away, I call out to him. "Hey," I say, unsure of what I even want to say.
He turns, and for a split second, I see something in his eyes—recognition. He knows who I am. He's been waiting for me.
"You shouldn't be here," he says in a low, almost monotone voice, his eyes flickering toward the end of the hallway as if someone's watching us. "You don't belong in this story."
I don't understand. "What do you mean?" My voice cracks, the unease crawling up my spine.
His gaze shifts back to me, but this time, there's no fear in his eyes. No panic. Just something darker—something I can't place. He leans in slightly, his words barely a whisper. "Stay away from the library. It's not just a place for books. It's a place where things… change."
Before I can ask him what he means, he takes a step back and turns to leave. My heart races, a thousand questions flooding my mind, but my feet won't move. I watch him disappear into the crowd, swallowed by the maze of students.
I stand there, still, my mind reeling. What change? What's happening in the library?
I try to push the thought away, but I can't. The unease gnaws at me, growing stronger with every passing second. There's something more to this place, something hidden beneath the surface. And the more I think about it, the more I realize it's not just the library. It's the whole school.
The bell rings again, signaling the end of class, but I can't focus. I go through the motions—listening to the teacher, nodding at my classmates—but my mind is elsewhere.
The halls are emptier now, and as I walk toward the exit, I can't shake the feeling that someone is following me. I glance over my shoulder. Nothing. Just a shadow stretching along the wall. But then, I see it again—a figure standing at the far end of the hall, watching me.
It's him again—the boy from the library. He's standing just outside the classroom door, his eyes locked on me.
I freeze. This time, there's no escaping him.
"Why are you following me?" I ask, my voice barely audible.
His expression is unreadable. He steps toward me, his movements deliberate and slow. "You're in danger," he says, his voice almost too calm. "And so am I."
I swallow hard, my heart thumping in my chest. I want to ask him why, but the words get caught in my throat. Instead, I just stare at him, waiting for an explanation that never comes.
He looks around, as if ensuring no one is watching. "Meet me after school," he says, his voice low. "I'll show you what's really going on."
He walks away without another word, disappearing into the crowd of students, leaving me alone with the chaos in my mind. I have no choice but to follow.