Chapter two:closer to the enemy
1070 Words
Three months.
That was how long I carried my pain in silence.
To everyone around me, it looked as though I was slowly returning to normal. I attended lectures, submitted my assignments, laughed whenever my classmates made jokes, and answered every question with the same tired smile.
“I’m fine.”
It became the biggest lie I had ever told.
The truth was, nothing was fine.
The nightmares never stopped.
Some nights I woke up drenched in sweat, convinced he was standing beside my bed, watching me with that same cold smile. Other nights, I stayed awake until sunrise because I was too afraid to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I found myself trapped in that room again.
People always say time heals everything.
They lied.
Time didn’t heal me.
It only taught me how to hide my pain.
I smiled during the day and cried when no one was watching.
The person who knew everything was Anna.
She was my closest friend, the only person I trusted enough to tell the truth. The day I told her what had happened, she cried with me. She held my hands while I struggled to speak, and when I finally finished telling her everything, the room became painfully quiet.
“I can’t keep living like this,” I whispered.
She squeezed my hand gently.
“You don’t have to.”
“I need to do something.”
“You need to report him.”
I immediately shook my head.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“No, Anna… I can’t.”
She looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“Please don’t let what he did change the person you are.”
“I already have.”
“No,” she said softly. “You’re hurt. That’s different.”
I looked away.
“I need answers.”
“I know.”
“I need him to admit what he did.”
“I know.”
“I need him to look me in the eyes and tell me why.”
She reached for my hand again.
“Then let the law handle it.”
I pulled my hand away.
“The law can’t give me back the person I used to be.”
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Finally, she stood up.
“I’ll always be here for you,” she said quietly. “But I won’t help you make a decision you’ll regret.”
At the time, her words felt like betrayal.
I wanted someone to stand beside me.
Instead, she asked me to let go.
I wasn’t ready.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Instead of facing my pain, I buried myself in distractions.
Nothing worked.
Not music.
Not books.
Not pretending everything was okay.
The memories followed me everywhere.
Then I made a decision.
If I wanted answers…
I had to get close to him.
Quietly, I began watching him.
I learned where he usually ate lunch.
The classroom he liked to sit in before lectures.
The café where he bought coffee every morning.
The route he took back to his hostel.
His favorite study spot in the library.
Every day, I watched from a distance until one afternoon, I finally gathered enough courage to walk up to him.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
My heart pounded so loudly I thought he could hear it.
“Hi,” I said with a smile I didn’t feel.
He looked up from his phone.
For a brief moment, he studied my face as though trying to remember where he had seen me before.
Then he smiled politely.
“Hi.”
“I’ve seen you around campus a few times,” I said. “I thought maybe we could get to know each other.”
He frowned slightly.
“I don’t know…”
Something about his expression changed.
“I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”
A nervous laugh escaped my lips.
“You’re overthinking.”
He continued staring at me.
Then, slowly, he handed me his phone.
“Put your number in.”
As I typed my number into his contacts, a strange feeling settled inside me.
It felt like I had crossed a line I could never cross back.
From that day forward, we started talking.
At first, our conversations were short and awkward.
Then they became longer.
Soon, we were talking every day.
The closer I got to him, the more confused I became.
He remembered little things I had forgotten to mention.
He asked how my lectures went.
He noticed whenever I looked tired.
Sometimes he bought me lunch without me asking.
He made me laugh.
And every time I laughed…
I hated myself for it.
How could someone who had destroyed my life act so normal?
Was this another lie?
Another mask?
Or had I completely misunderstood the man standing in front of me?
The questions refused to leave my mind.
One evening, after spending the day together, I returned to my room.
I stepped into the shower and allowed the warm water to fall over my body.
Without warning…
I broke down.
I slowly slid to the floor, wrapped my arms around my knees, and cried until my chest hurt.
I wasn’t crying because I cared about him.
I was crying because I no longer trusted my own thoughts.
I wanted to call my parents.
More than once, I picked up my phone.
Every single time…
I put it back down.
How could I tell them?
How could I explain something I barely understood myself?
By the time I came out of the bathroom, I had wiped away every trace of my tears.
I smiled.
Just like always.
That night, after he fell asleep, I quietly reached for his phone.
My hands trembled.
I searched through his gallery.
Nothing.
His messages.
Nothing.
Hidden folders.
Nothing.
Every app.
Every file.
Nothing.
There was no video.
No recording.
No evidence that the worst night of my life had ever happened.
I sat frozen, staring at the screen.
A cold wave of fear washed over me.
Had he deleted everything?
Had he lied from the very beginning?
Or…
Was there another piece of this story that I still didn’t know?
For the first time since that terrible night…
I wasn’t just questioning him.
I was questioning my own memories.
And somehow…
That frightened me more than anything else.
- Writer
