...Evelyn ...

The iron gates of Altbridge University towered before me like the entrance to another life.

I stood still for a moment, luggage tugging at my shoulder, a light breeze catching the hem of my t-shirt. Around me, students moved in knots—some laughing too loudly, others dragging oversized suitcases or calling their parents with that performative cheerfulness that meant don’t worry, I’m fine.

I wasn’t fine.

I was excited, sure. But nervous enough to feel the sweat forming under my collar.

For the first time in my life, I was far from home. No unannounced check-ins, no overly specific questions like “Did you eat the second chapati or just one?” from my mom. My father hadn’t looked directly at me while dropping me off, just muttered something like “call if you need anything” as he handed me my ID folder.

I closed my eyes and took a breath that was deeper than I expected.

“You’ll be alright,” I whispered to myself. The words left my mouth like I was trying to prove I could speak at all.

And then I stepped forward.

The main campus was larger than I imagined — red-brick buildings tangled in ivy, courtyards blooming with stubborn summer flowers, the smell of something fried wafting from the canteen in the distance. My sneakers crunched gravel as I followed the campus map printed on my phone screen like a lifeline.

Inside the Engineering and Technology building, the air was cooler. Sterile. The buzz of fluorescent lighting overhead reminded me of hospitals and exam rooms. I found the elevator — scratched buttons, one blinking LED — and took it up to the floor my schedule had mentioned.

Outside the classroom, the hallway was mostly empty. I checked the time: still five minutes to go. I stood by the door, trying to look casual while secretly panicking about where to keep my hands.

That’s when I saw her.

A girl stood a few feet away, scrolling her phone. She had short, neat curls that bounced when she moved, and a purple canvas bag slung over one shoulder. She looked alone. Like me.

I cleared my throat, then immediately regretted how loud it was.

“Hi, uh—are you from Batch 4?”

She flinched, just a little, startled. Then her eyes met mine and softened.

“Oh! Yeah, I am,” she said, then added, “You too?”

“Yeah. I’m Evelyn .”

She smiled. “Diana. Nice to meet you.”

There was a short pause. I shifted my weight to my other foot. She glanced toward the classroom door, then back at me. “I thought I was early, but… guess I wasn’t the only one.”

That small line relaxed me more than anything else had all morning.

Soon, more students trickled in — some loud, some blinking sleep from their eyes. Diana and I exchanged names with a few, and by the time we entered the lecture hall, I was walking beside her like we’d known each other a full week instead of eight minutes.

Inside, the classroom had that strange energy — people trying to appear calm while scanning every face, every voice. As the lecturer walked in and began his slow, clipped introduction to the course, I barely heard a word. I was too focused on finding people I might talk to again.

And then it happened.

By the time we left class and headed toward the canteen, there were four girls walking together — Diana, Crystal (who had this bold ear ring and an even bolder laugh), Ava (who carried a laptop like it was part of her body), and Sofia (quiet, but always observing — I could tell she’d memorized the seating chart already).

We sat around a steel table in the canteen. The place smelled like coffee, masala, and something fried that had definitely been reheated. My tray sat untouched while the girls debated whether the lecturer had been vague or just boring.

“So, did he actually say what percentage our assignments count for?” Ava asked, stirring her drink with one of those little spoons that serve no purpose.

“He said ‘you’ll be evaluated holistically,’” Crystal mimicked in a sleepy drone. “Which means: I make up the numbers.”

Laughter. Even Sofia cracked a smile.

I was smiling too, quietly, when I felt it.

A weight. A pressure. Not physical — more like a temperature shift.

I looked up instinctively.

Across the canteen, near the far corner by the vending machine, stood a boy. No—man. Maybe a senior. Tall. Wiry. Dark shirt, darker eyes. His jaw was sharp enough to look like a drawing, and he wasn’t smiling.

He was staring straight at me.

For a moment, our eyes locked. The noise around me dropped out.

Then Ava’s voice brought me back. “Evelyn ? What about you — do you code already or are you totally new to it?”

I blinked. “Uh… somewhere in between,” I mumbled, eyes darting back to the corner.

But the guy was gone.

...The Envelope...

The hallway was too bright.

Second lecture of the day, but it felt like the walls were closing in. Between the scrape of metal chairs, bursts of laughter, and the uneven rhythm of footsteps, Evelyn moved through the corridor like a thread slipping loose from fabric.

Her locker was against the far wall — old, dented, still smelling faintly of paint and someone else’s perfume from last semester. She reached for the dial, her fingers slower than usual. Not nervous. Not quite. Just… off. Like her instincts were trying to catch up to something her mind hadn’t noticed yet.

Click.

The door creaked open.

Books. Notebook. Calculator.

And then: the envelope.

It lay across her things with the perfect arrogance of something meant to be discovered. Jet black. Unmarked. Heavier than it looked. She didn’t touch it immediately.

There was something obscene about how still it was. Like a mouth waiting to be opened.

Her fingers hovered. She glanced over her shoulder. Just noise — people yelling names down the hall, Diana waving at someone across the stairwell. Life moved on.

She picked it up.

It was warm. Not room-temperature. Warm. As if someone had held it a long time before slipping it between the pages of her life.

She flipped it once, twice. No handwriting. No crease marks.

Evelyn tore it open carefully.

Inside was a matte black card. The paper was textured like skin — dry, fine, whispering between her fingers. She turned it toward the light.

Embossed in deep, blood-red lettering:

YOU’VE BEEN SEEN.

No name. No punctuation. No threat. No clue.

But her stomach tightened all the same. That kind of tightness that felt like falling — not down, but in. She read it again, her lips parting slightly.

There was no way to laugh this off. It didn’t feel like a prank. It felt like precision. Like someone had watched her long enough to time this perfectly — after her second day, before her walls had fully formed.

She blinked. For a second, she thought she heard something — a click. Not from the hallway. Closer.

She whipped her head around.

Nothing but the usual crowd. Diana was now halfway down the hall, chatting. The air was heavy with the scent of deodorant, floor polish, and hot plastic from some overworked vending machine.

Her heart knocked once. Hard.

She shoved the card back into the envelope, the envelope into her bag, and slammed the locker.

“Hey,” Diana’s voice chimed beside her suddenly. Evelyn flinched. “Jesus, relax. You looked like you were reading your own obituary.”

Evelyn took a second to respond. “Someone left something. Probably just some welcome ritual I missed.”

Diana peered at her. “Was it glitter-bombed?”

“No.”

“Threatening?”

Evelyn hesitated. “No. Just… weird.”

Diana grinned. “You’ll get used to weird things. This whole building feels like it’s built over some cursed tunnel system. You know half the lights on the third floor flicker in Morse code?”

She laughed, but Evelyn didn’t.

They started walking toward their class, shoulder to shoulder, and yet Evelyn felt entirely alone in her skin. The envelope pulsed against her thigh from inside the bag. She hadn’t even noticed how tightly she was clutching the strap until her fingers ached.

Something had changed.

The hallway was still buzzing. People were still laughing. But for the first time, it felt like there was a second layer underneath it all — a quieter rhythm, slower, darker.

And in that rhythm, someone was watching.

Not playfully. Not politely.

Like she was a puzzle. Or prey.

...The Night Walk...

The night didn’t feel like night anymore.

It felt like a pause between things. Like something had stopped breathing—but not her.

Evelyn moved slowly, her arms crossed over her chest against the chill that had no business being this sharp in August. The campus had been alive earlier: lights, music, the sound of laughter bleeding through open dorm windows.

But here, in the old North Courtyard, none of that reached her.

Here, the silence had teeth.

She stepped past the crooked stone arch. Ivy brushed her shoulder like fingers that knew her name. Her footsteps echoed too loudly on the uneven brick path.

The courtyard opened like a throat — wide and old and waiting.

There was one light.

A single rusted lamp, flickering in weak intervals. When it dimmed, the shadows took over. When it flared, she looked over her shoulder.

And that’s when she saw him.

He stood just at the edge of the light, where shadow met definition. Like he’d been waiting there the entire time — not hidden, just choosing not to be seen until now.

Her breath hitched. Not from fear. Something worse. Or better. Or both.

His posture was casual — hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly, like he was studying a piece of art. But his stillness had the precision of a wire pulled tight. Like if he moved, it wouldn’t be random. It would be intended.

The lamp flickered again. And when it lit him, she saw the details:

Black shirt. Collar open. The curve of a vein in his neck. Jaw like a blade. Hair dark, neatly swept back. Shoulders cut like he was made of stone and silk at the same time.

And his eyes.

Not warm. Not cold.

Just focused—like she was the only thing in the world he hadn’t yet put his hands on.

She could barely breathe.

He didn’t move. Just let the silence stretch. Let her heart pound harder in her chest, because he knew it was happening. He knew how close she was to either running or falling to her knees and begging for him to speak.

And finally, he did.

His voice was low and smooth. Not loud. Not rushed.

Just… certain.

“You’re exactly where I wanted you.”

The words dropped between them like a glove.

Evelyn ’s mouth went dry.

He stepped closer. One pace. Enough that she could see the sharp angles of his cheekbones now. The faint scar tracing the edge of his left eyebrow. A detail no one else would notice unless they were allowed this close.

She wasn’t sure she had been allowed. But she was here, wasn’t she?

“I—” She started. Her voice didn’t want to work. “Do I… know you?”

He smiled.

But it wasn’t kindness. It wasn’t friendliness.

It was possession.

“Not yet.”

Another step.

She didn’t move. She should have moved. But her body wouldn’t obey. Her limbs were strung with a thousand invisible threads, all pulled taut and trembling.

His gaze dropped to her lips.

Not by accident.

“I don’t believe in introductions. I believe in recognition. And I recognized you.”

The wind picked up then, sliding past them like a warning. Her breath fogged faintly in the cold air. Her skin burned.

She blinked, heart thudding against her ribs.

“From… where?”

He tilted his head.

“The moment you walked through the gate,” he said. “I watched you take a breath before you spoke to yourself.”

Her blood ran cold.

No one had been close enough to hear that. Or so she’d thought.

“You said, ‘You’ll be alright,’” he murmured. “But you lied.”

Her hands were trembling now.

He saw. Of course he did. And he stepped one more pace closer. Close enough that she could smell the sharp scent of cedar, something expensive, something old. His presence pressed against hers without touching.

“Tell me your name,” he said. Not asked. Said.

Evelyn licked her lips, too fast. He noticed that too.

“Evelyn .”

He smiled again.

“Evelyn .” He tasted it like a secret. “That’s the first thing I’ll take.”