Mavamwol

Chapter four: crush

“Are you okay?”

His pale hand brushed my hair, and I felt a shiver run through me. He stared at me, disbelief etched across his sharp features, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Your eyes… they’re grey. And your hair… red,” he said slowly, each word deliberate, almost reverent. “I can’t believe this is natural.”

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting. “I know… I’m a freak.” My voice sounded harsher than I intended, like jagged glass against my own skin.

He shook his head, and a slow, amused smile curved across his lips. “Actually,” he said, leaning slightly closer, his deep voice rolling over me like the sound of peaceful harps, “it makes you look beautiful.”

My knees nearly went weak. I bent my head, trying to hide my blush. Someone… had just called my differences beautiful. And of course, it was this utterly charming, impossibly handsome heartthrob saying it. My chest tightened, my pulse racing as his eyes—bright, intense, and piercing—studied me like I was something precious and rare.

“I’m Valois, by the way,” he added, and the warmth in his gaze made it impossible to look away.

“Umm… thank you,” I muttered, barely audible. I could feel the heat crawling up my neck as I clutched the paper in my hand like it was a lifeline.

Valois’ eyes flicked down to the paper I was holding, and suddenly his expression lit up like the sun breaking through clouds.

“Class 1B? That’s my class too!” he exclaimed, a grin tugging at his lips. Without hesitation, he bent down and helped me gather the papers that had scattered to the floor. His hands were warm, strong, and careful, and I felt my fingers brush his for the briefest moment—a jolt of electricity running straight to my chest.

I knew education came first, relationships later. I had to remind myself that. But there was something about Valois—a strange magnetic pull, a tension I couldn’t ignore. Something about him unsettled me and thrilled me at the same time.

“I’ll see you in class,” he said, flashing a grin that made my knees weak before he turned and melted into the crowd.

I exhaled shakily, clutching my papers, my thoughts spinning faster than my pulse. And then, as if to remind me that the world wasn’t done testing me yet, I noticed him.

Leaning against a locker across the hall, a boy watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, his body relaxed but every movement deliberate, dangerous. His dark hair fell carelessly over a sharp, angular face, and his eyes—black, unreadable, with a glint of mischief—tracked every movement with predatory precision. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips, the kind that whispered trouble before he even spoke.

He wore a black leather jacket over a white shirt, sleeves rolled slightly, exposing toned forearms, and dark jeans that hinted at someone used to moving freely, effortlessly. He looked like he belonged to a world of crime and shadows, not a high school hallway. And yet, there he was, leaning casually against the locker, one booted foot pressed against the wall, like he owned the very space he occupied.

A chill ran down my spine. Something about him screamed danger—the kind of danger that wasn’t just physical but… magnetic. His presence alone made the air tense, crackling, and I felt my pulse spike.

I wanted to look away, to pretend he didn’t exist. But curiosity clawed at me, whispering that he was important somehow, someone I couldn’t ignore. His eyes flicked to Valois first, then to me, and I felt the weight of his stare press against me like gravity. I could feel the silent warning: stay away.

I swallowed hard, clutching my books, my heart hammering in my chest. The hallway suddenly felt smaller, suffocating, charged with a strange energy that made every sound, every movement, impossible to ignore. Even Valois, with his warmth and charm, seemed distant now under the shadow of this new presence.

He carried a darkness that wasn’t just an aura—it was a presence. The moment he stepped close, a cold shiver crawled down my spine, as if the shadows themselves whispered my name. And somehow, every person I meet has that same unsettling pull, a spiritual thread tied to the same darkness. Every glance they throw at me triggers a sudden flash—broken pieces of memories I’ve tried so hard to bury. It makes me wonder… do they know what I am? Or worse—are they connected to the truth I’ve been running from?