CHAPTER 9: THINGS YOU DON'T SEE IN THE DARK
1543 Words
The silence between us stretched thin — like a thread about to snap.
“Hey,” I said softly. “Don't break your teeth thinking that hard.”
He didn't smile back. “If Justin took that picture, I swear—”
“Then what?” I cut in. “You'll glare at him into confession? Please, detective Asher, relax before you combust.”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You don't get it. Justin doesn't joke around. If he's involved, it's serious.”
“And you know that because…”
“ I could tell you, but you won't sleep tonight”
“Asher,” I pressed. “What did he do?”
“Let's just say,” he murmured, “He has a thing for playing with people's heads.”
“Cute. So basically every guy in this school.”
He smirked. “You should rest,Lala.”
“No way,” I said, folding my arms. “You're not dumping a creepy origami stalker case on me and walking off.”
He groaned. “Are you always this stubborn?”
“Only when I'm right,” I replied. “Which, for the record, is always.”
He gave me a long stare, the kind that said you exhaust me, but I caught the hint of a smile before he turned away.
“I mean it, Lala. This isn't just a prank. If Justin's involved it's not some harmless game.”
“Yeah yeah,” I said, waving my hands. “Next thing you'll tell me he's secretly the Origami Phantom.”
Asher blinked. “ The what?”
“It's what I'm calling our mysterious note artist. Sounds cooler than “creepy paper guy.”
He sighed through a laugh. “You're Unbelievable.”
“I know,” I said, smirking. “It's part of my charm.”
Asher's phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen, and his entire face changed. The easy sarcasm drained out, leaving something sharp and cold.
“What?” I asked.
He didn't answer right away. Just turned the screen toward me.
It was a message.
UNKNOWN: You should have stayed away from her.
I felt a shiver through my spine.
“Asher,” I whispered, “is that–”
“Same number,” he said. “No contact name. No history.”
I swallowed hard. “Maybe it's a coincidence.”
He shot me a look. “You really believe that?”
“No,” I admitted quietly. “But I was hoping you'd say yes.”
Before he could reply, a faint clatter echoed from the far end of the hall.
Like something metallic hitting tile.
We both turned.
Empty corridor.
Flickering light.
A hum from the vending machine.
“Asher,” I whispered. “If this is Justin trying to be funny —”
“Then I'll make sure he regrets it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, sure. You'll what? Give him your signature death glare.”
“Maybe,” he chuckled. “Maybe not.”
He started walking toward the noise.
I grabbed his sleeve. “Wait…what if it's—”
He stopped. “If it's nothing we go back. If it's something, I don't want it following you.”
I hated that he made sense.
I also hated how steady his voice sounded when mine was shaky.
We reached the vending machine. A can of soda rolled slowly.
The air felt heavier.
“Maybe someone forgot it,” I said. My voice low.
“or left it,” he murmured.
I frowned. “You always this optimistic?”
He smirked. “only when I'm trying not to panic.”
That made me laugh as heat crept up my neck.
“Okay, I'm officially done for the night,” I said, turning back toward the door. “If any more haunted snacks appear, I'm out.”
But as soon as I reached my door, I froze.
A piece of paper was sticking out front under it.
I knelt, heart racing, and pulled it free.
Same handwriting.
DO YOU THINK YOU'RE STILL ALONE?
My fingers went cold.
“Asherrrrr!” I called out my voice shaking, showing him the paper.
His jaw clenched. “That’s it. You're not staying here.”
“What ? Don't be ridiculous.”
“I'm serious, Lala.” His tone was clipped, no room for argument. “Someone slipped that under your door. They knew exactly where to find you.”
“Maybe it's a coincidence.”
“Stop saying that.” He yelled in frustration. “Coincidence don't sketch your face or send pictures of you.”
My chest tightened.
I wanted to argue or joke, to make the air feel lighter, but all that came out was a quiet, “Then what do we do?”
“You're sleeping on my bed, with me tonight.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He met my eyes. “You'll be safer.”
“You sure about that? Because last time I checked, you attract drama like WiFi.”
“Lala.” He said it low, a warning wrapped in my name.
“Fine, but if you snore I'm leaving.”
I took a deep breath, as some of the tension in my chest broke.
He swiped the card on the door, and pushed it open.
I looked over his shoulder.
There right in the center of his desk sat another paper bird.
This one wasn't white.
It was red.
“Asher…” I whispered.
He didn't move. “Don't touch it.”
But I already had. The paper was soft, folded with precision.
And inside, I could feel something hard– a small, flat shape.
I unfolded it slowly.
It wasn't another drawing.
It was a photo of me taken tonight standing right outside his door.
I gasped, dropping it.
His jaw clenched. “They're not guessing anymore, they're watching.”
That statement hits harder than I wanted to admit.
The air between us became heavy.
“Lock the door,” he said, stepping closer. “From now on we don't walk alone. Not until we find who's behind this.”
“And how exactly do we do that?” I asked.
He smiled– cold, sharp and dangerous. “We make them think they've already won.”
Why would he say that?
“Meaning?”
He leaned closer, whispering, "If they want a game, we'll play it.”
My heart skipped for a second. “Asher–”
“I'm done with this bull s**t!” My voice came out louder than I meant. I crushed the paper in my fist and tossed it in the trash.
Asher took off his clothes, dropped it into the laundry basket and headed straight for the shower.
He came out with a white towel wrapped around his waist, steam still clinging to his skin. He grabbed the grey towel hanging on the door and patted himself dry, then ran a hand through his damp hair. Afterward, he applied deodorant and rubbed lotion over his arms and chest, the faint scent drifting through the room.
I turned away as I started to undress.
“Turn around,” I said quietly.
“I'm sorry. I will,” he murmured, facing the wall.
She entered the bathroom, and turned on the tap. The sound of rushing water filled the silence, loud enough to not hear what was going on in the bathroom.
She looked at herself in the mirror, eyes red and tired. With shaky breath, she hit her palm lightly against her forehead, as if that could silence the memory of the kiss flashed in her mind, sharp and unwanted. One mistake. One moment she couldn't take back.
And now because of it, someone was watching them.
“What have I done?” she whispered.
She gripped the edge of her sink, her knuckles pale. The thought made her stomach twist.
How much did they see ? How long had they been stalking us ?
I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the panic, but it stayed heavy and choking.
“What’s wrong with me?” I muttered under my breath. The question hung in the fogged mirror, unanswered.
She shut off the tap and stood there for a moment, breathing hard, before finally stepping into the shower.
When I came out, he hadn't realised I'd been crying until he reached for a towel.
He didn’t say anything, just wiped the tears from my face and helped me wear my clothes — white singlet, and black shorts like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hands lingered for a moment too long. Neither of us spoke.
Then he took my hand, and led me to his bed.
“Don't forget, you're sleeping on my bed tonight,” he said.
I laid on his bed, tears falling down my cheeks.
“Why me?” I murmured, voice breaking.
He did answer me. He only pulled closer, holding me like he wished he could take the pain away.
After a long silence, he whispered, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you.”
If I hadn't… we wouldn't be in this mess.
- Writer
