After school, Lea stuck with me like glitter on craft paper — cheerful, chatty, and impossible to shake off. Not that I minded. It was nice, actually, having someone. Even if she did go on a little too enthusiastically about boys.

  I wanted to sit her down and explain — gently, maybe with a diagram — that most men were useless, emotionally constipated disasters with God complexes and zero ability to load a dishwasher. But I kept my feminist doomsday speech to myself. No need to scare her off just yet. Instead, I nodded, smiled politely, and listened as she gushed about who did what, where, and how unbelievably hot he looked while doing it.

  She was young, sweet, and blissfully naive — like a baby deer skipping through a minefield. I couldn’t be mad at her for that. Maybe one day, I'd hand her the manual on surviving the male species. Chapter One: Do not engage.

  We followed the paved path out through the school’s main gates, falling into step among the other students. Spring had dressed the bushes and trees on our left in bright greens and fluttering petals, which felt offensively cheerful. In five minutes, we reached the bus stop — two platforms, one heading into the city center, the other to the outer suburbs. I needed the latter.

  As we reached the platform, Lea paused and gave me a quick side hug, like we were already best friends. (Told you, she’s warm. Like, marshmallow-warm.)

  “You sure you’re gonna be okay?” she asked, worry framing her face. “New place, new route, weird bus smells…”

  “I think I’ve survived the worst of today,” I smirked, trying to not think about my embarrassing encounter with Sir Turns-Girls-Down-A-Lot. “Like having to go past the boys’ restroom. This’ll be a breeze.”

  She giggled. “You’re so funny, Miri. We should definitely hang out more!”

  I gave her a casual salute. “Sure. I’ll brace myself for more Raven fan theories.”

  She clapped her hands and looked at me with wide eyes. “You totally do remember his name!”

  “Tragically, yes.”

  We both laughed. Her bus pulled up on the opposite platform, so she waved goodbye and with a short see-you-tomorrow we parted.

  Then came mine.

  The bus screeched in with the grace of a dying walrus, and before I could so much as blink, a pack of teenage boys swarmed the doors and claimed every last seat like it was Black Friday and they were fighting over flat-screens.

  I blinked at the chaos. The bus was already packed to bursting. Fantastic. Standing room only. Because of course.

  I climbed aboard and wedged myself between a wall of backpacks, elbows, and testosterone.

  Two other girls stood nearby, both blonde and clearly unhappy about the situation — until I “accidentally” nudged myself a little closer to the guys behind me, giving the girls more breathing space. Judging by their cheerful small talk, my efforts worked out. The thanks I got for it though? Nothing. They kept chatting about lip gloss and test scores like I was invisible.

  Whatever, I knew I was doing a good deed. I was basically a public transit saint.

  Trying not to eavesdrop, I dug through my jacket pocket at the next stop and plugged in my headphones. Finally — a bubble of peace. My favorite band wrapped me in the kind of sound therapy only angsty lyrics and dramatic guitar riffs could provide.

  Then, suddenly, I felt it — that weird, prickly sensation of being watched. I glanced around, subtly, but couldn’t pinpoint anyone. Maybe, when you’re sandwiched between twelve teenage boys and a driver with a questionable mustache, paranoia was just bound to kick in.

  Several stops and songs later, the bus finally began to empty. One of the blonde girls had gotten off earlier, and as soon as a few seats opened up, the second darted into one like it was a game of musical chairs. I stayed where I was, gazing out the window like a disaffected poetry major. I had to ride until the last stop anyway. Might as well brood dramatically.

  Still, the feeling of being watched wouldn’t leave. I refused to look again. That would’ve made it real. And I wasn’t going to be the girl who freaked herself out over nothing on her first day of school. I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day already.

  The neighborhood where we now lived wasn’t winning any beauty contests. Gray apartment blocks stretched out on my left like soulless Lego bricks. Occasionally, a sad-looking tree or lopsided bench interrupted the concrete monotony. It was mostly old folks or families who couldn’t afford anything better — no briefcases, no power heels, just tired eyes and discount groceries.

  A ten minute walk from the bus stop to our new apartment.

  The bus finally reached its end and I, as well as a couple of other passengers that I didn’t really give much attention to, stepped off the bus. I turned right into the same direction the bus drove off, and strolled slowly down the sidewalk. I wasn’t in a rush to get home. Yet, that weird sensation — the prickle on the back of my neck — lingered.

  Probably just nerves, I told myself. After all, I’d spent the last half an hour pressed against a dozen teenage boys on a moving vehicle. If that didn’t make you feel watched, nothing would.

  As I turned onto the street that led to our apartment building, I was scrolling furiously through my playlist, trying to find the song—something upbeat and funky, to get myself off this paranoid feeling. My thumb was mid-swipe when my foot caught on a crack in the pavement, because of course it did.

  I let out a surprised yelp as I stumbled forward, arms flailing like a deranged windmill. My phone slipped right out of my hand, earbuds yanking free from my ears, connected through cables, as it launched through the air in a perfect arc of doom.

  And because fate has a sense of humor, my foot came down squarely on it before I could catch myself.

  Crunch.

  I froze, one leg awkwardly bent like a flamingo mid-panic attack, and slowly lifted my foot. My heart sunk deeper than the Titanic. The screen was spiderwebbed. Could a casing have prevented worse? Should’ve gotten a casing. I stared at the wreckage, wide-eyed.

  “Oh. No. No, no, no. You didn’t deserve this.”

  This phone was with me for more than four years now. My mom gave it to me on my 13th Birthday, all smiles. It was by now a little outdated, but it’s done me a good service all these years. I should’ve been more careful.

  I dropped to my knees like I was in a war movie. Cradling my phone in both hands, I let out a theatrical gasp.

  “Oh, Pixel... you brave, reckless fool. I told you not to fly without a case.” I slowly stood up straight again, holding the lifeless screen up to the sky while trying to turn it back on by pressing the power button. No success, it remained lifeless.

  “You were my best bud, my flashlight, my therapist in the dark hours of the night… and now you’re just—just digital roadkill.”

  A pause for effect. Then a whisper: “You died way too young.” I sighed heavily. Now, I really had to get that part-time job as soon as possible. Better had been yesterday.

  Behind me, a soft snrk cut through the silence. I froze.

  Then: a low chuckle. Dry. Familiar.

  I turned, slow-motion horror movie style, to see—yep. There he was. Raven Payne––which had yet to be confirmed—stood a few meters back, one arm across his stomach, the other hiding his surely amused smile behind his hand. He’s clearly trying not to laugh and failing miserably. I could tell by looking at his eyes.

  “What the hell—” I began, already halfway to murder mode.

  “Touching funeral, Wildcard,” Raven said, his voice full of barely-suppressed laughter. “Shall I send flowers?”

  I stared at him. Was he making fun of my misery? He did not just call me Wildcard again. And on top of that, what was he doing here?!

  “You again? Really?” I said. “Did you seriously follow me here just to mock the tragic passing of my one remaining source of joy? What are you, a stalker?” I barked, stomping toward him and finger pointing in his direction like I was selecting him for execution while holding my shattered phone like a broken relic of a fallen empire.

  He shrugged, the grin still playing at the corner of his mouth. “You okay, Wildcard?” he asked innocently. “Looked like a fatal injury back there. Should I call next of kin for the phone?”

  He stayed where he was when I finally reached him. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back off. That annoyed me even more. I came to a halt half a meter from him, jabbing my finger toward his chest like a loaded weapon. His chest was... unfairly solid. And warm. I tried not to notice that.

  “Stop calling me that!” I shot at him, looking him straight into these ice-blue eyes. Up close, I realized just how tall he actually was — at least half a foot taller than me. His presence filled the space like he belonged in it.

  He glanced down at my finger that was still poking his chest, then slowly, deliberately, curled his hand around mine and pushed it gently down.

  My heart did a weird little somersault due to that unexpected contact.

  What was that about?

  It wasn’t because of him. Obviously. I didn’t care about him. At all. It was just… strangers rarely touched me. That’s all it was.

  “You could just tell me your name,” he said smoothly, “so I might not have to keep calling you ‘Wildcard’.”

  I yanked my hand back like it burned and folded my arms again, annoyed at how warm his hand had been — and how I’d noticed.

  I hesitated. Still questioning why he was here.

  “You tell me yours first.”

  A grin. “Fair enough. I’m Raven.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Raven... Raven Payne?”, I inquired. My guts told me he was the one Lea was talking about, but I had to hear it with my own ears.

  His smirk faltered—just for a second—but he recovered fast.

  “Depends. Is he in trouble?” He lifted his right hand and started scratching his neck.

  “If he’s stalking me, then yes.”

  “In that case... maybe I’m his cooler, more athletic cousin.”

  “So you are Raven Payne. The guy my classmate was gushing about this morning.”

  He looked smug, like it wasn’t news to him that people were talking about him every day. “Did they say devastatingly handsome or just painfully charming?”

  “Neither,” I lied. “She said you were a pain in the butt.”

  He scoffed again. “Then she wasn’t wrong.”

  I rolled my eyes, totally not giving him my name in return. Deep inside I hoped he had forgotten.

  “So, if you weren’t stalking me, what are you really doing here? And don’t lie to me. There’s no way you live here. You look like you dry clean your sneakers.” I questioned, eyeing him. He looked way too clean-cut for that — brand-name green Chucks, well-fitted jeans, and a sweater that actually matched. He probably didn’t even know what secondhand meant.

  He followed my gaze down to his shoes, then back up at me with a bemused shrug.

  “Okay, harsh,” he said. “But, no, I don’t live here. I’ve got training nearby.”

  “What kind of training?” I asked. “Stalker 101? ‘How to Subtly Lurk Behind Girls Without Getting Mace’d’?”

  He chuckled again, clearly not offended enough. “Pretty sure that one’s an elective.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I decided to give him the benefit of a doubt, as it seemed Raven had a comeback for everything I threw at him. My ammunition reserves of sassy comments run out again. I decided I’ve lingered long enough in the company of Raven ‘Stalker’ Payne. Silently I slid my broken phone into my jeans pocket.

  “Will you be okay?”

  I was momentarily thrown off by the flicker of genuine concern in his voice and worries in his eyes when I looked back at him.

  “That phone looked like it’s been through some things.” He pointed at the shattered electronic device that was now hiding in my pants.

  “I’ll live,” I muttered, brushing a stray hair out of my face, feeling caught off guard by his sudden sensitive side. “Though I may start hearing voices without music to drown them out.”

  “I could hum,” he offered, deadpan.

  I glared at him. “You hum one note and I swear I’ll throw this broken phone at your perfectly symmetrical face.”

  He raised his hands in mock surrender, backing off a step with a smirk. “Relax, Wildcard. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

  “And I’m just trying to avoid a prison sentence,” I countered sweetly, also taking a step back, ready to finally leave the situation.

  “I’m Miri, by the way.”, I added, even though he hasn’t asked again. I offered it willingly, just in hope he would stop calling me that ridiculous nickname.

  “Miri,” he echoed, seemingly thinking. “Is that short for something?”

  “Mirona,” I muttered, instantly regretting it.

  “Mirona.” He tried it out like he was tasting it. “Fancy. But I think I’m still gonna stick with Wildcard.”

  I groaned. “Whatever. Just don’t stalk me again.”

  “Can’t make any promises,” he said, while I was already bringing distance between us again.

  “Stalker!” I turned to make my leave, not sparing him another glance. He was way too irritating to deal with.

  “Wildcard!”, he threw at me again and added “Oh, and RIP Pixel. May he charge in peace.”

  “Don’t talk about him like you knew him!” I shouted, shaking my head in disbelief and flipping him the finger as “good-bye”.

  I could hear Raven’s quiet chuckle behind me, as I stormed off in a huff after that last sentence. Annoyingly, I didn’t hate it.

  To be sure — not that I was paranoid or anything — I turned the corner, walked two buildings down, and ducked behind a stairwell to wait. Five minutes passed. No sound. No footsteps.

  I peeked out.

  No Raven.

  Good. He probably got bored. Or really went to his ominous training. Or hit by a car. As long as he didn’t follow me anymore, I was fine with whichever.

  I headed toward our real apartment, phone pieces still in my pants pocket and the stupid nickname echoing in my head like the lyrics to a catchy song.

  Our apartment was on the ground floor of a faded orange block building that had definitely seen better days and was very contrasting to the mostly gray buildings in the area. The entrance of the building was above a couple of steps, where the door had to be unlocked with a general key. Once inside I was greeted by the automated lights that jumped on. The small area when entering had access to all resident’s mailboxes on the left hand side. I stepped over the patch of carpet and headed to the first door on the right.

  The moment I unlocked the door and stepped inside, a waft of delicious food hit me like a warm hug. We didn’t usually have freshly cooked hot meals during the week—Mom worked too much, money was tight, and afternoons were often grab-what-you-can affairs or ready meals. She must’ve made an exception because today was, technically, my first day at the new school. Either that, or she was trying to cheer us all up.

  I barely had time to close the door when the floor shook with the sound of thundering little feet. Kim came flying down the tight hallway like a fluffy rocket, her brown curls bouncing wildly with every step.

  “Miri!” she squeaked as she hurled herself at me.

  I caught her easily, crouching down to wrap her in a tight hug. Her little arms squeezed around my neck with surprising strength. “You’re finally hoooome!”

  Sweet little mouse.

  She smelled like crayon wax and syrup. Probably got into the fridge again after nap time. I grinned and gave her a kiss on the cheek before we pulled apart. She immediately grabbed my hand like it was her job and tugged me down the hallway.

  “We’ve been waiting forever! Come on! Come see!”

  I kicked off my shoes, tossed my jacket onto one of the few hooks by the door and left my schoolbag in the hallway, while letting her drag me toward the kitchen. It was right through the first door frame on the left of the hallway, and the closer we got, the stronger the smell of tomato sauce and garlic.

  “Mooom! Miri’s back!” Kim announced proudly, as if I had just returned from war.

  Our mom was at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, stirring with a look of deep focus.

  “Sergeant Mirona Sawyer, reporting back from duty!”, I said in a funny low voice, saluting towards my mom. She turned and gave us both a tired but content smile. There was always something in her expression that felt a little too worn for her age—like life had stretched her thin and kept pulling. But when she saw us together, some of the strain softened.

  “Look what Mom made!” Kim declared, pointing dramatically at the pot like it was treasure. “Spaghetti Bolognese!”

  I blinked. For real? It was literally one of my favourite dishes ever, accompanied with a little heartache.

  “Wow. Fancy,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.

  Mom chuckled softly, brushing a loose lock of hair out of her face with her wrist. “Well, it’s a special day, right?”

  Translation: I know today was hard, and I’m trying.

  “Thanks, Mom. It smells amazing.” I squeezed my mom quickly and also gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Kimmy, sweety, could you go and grab the plates and set up for dinner, please?”, she asked my sister and then looked at me, “Go and make yourself comfortable, honey. Food’s just finished.”

  Definitely didn’t have to be told twice. I just realised I was actually starving.

  While I tugged on one of the four chairs on the round table that was situated in the middle of the kitchen, Kim swiped passed me to place one of three plates in front of me on the table cloth. I sat down and the other two plates followed. One next to me and one across. Then three forks. My little sister was so accurate and neat setting up the table. She somehow had nothing of my own clumsiness.

  It wasn’t much, but it did feel like home.

  Mom and Kim joined me on the table while my mother distributed everyone’s portion. For a moment, it was just clinking forks and the warm silence of a family used to making the best of it.

  “So,” Mom asked after a few bites, “how was your first day?”

  I shrugged, swallowing a mouthful of noodles. “Honestly? Not awful. Even the boys were semi-tolerable.”

  I saw the flicker of relief in her eyes before she masked it. She tried not to push, but she was always watching—always weighing how much she should ask.

  “And… did anyone give you trouble?” she asked gently.

  “Nope,” I lied. I wasn’t ready to explain the whole Possibly-Stalked-By-The-School-Idol thing. Not without sounding like I’d lost it.

  “Are there any girls?” Kim piped up, holding her fork like a microphone.

  “Sure, but not many. There’s one in my class, though. Her name’s Lea. She’s sweet. We already made friends.”

  Mom smiled at that, and it was real this time. “I’m glad. I was a little worried, to be honest. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to find a better school for you, sweetheart.”

  The apology hit me like a bruise I’d forgotten about. She didn’t need to say it, but she always did.

  “Mom, stop. Seriously. It’s not your fault. I’m handling it. You don’t need to worry so much. I’m Super-Miri, remember?” With a wink at my sister, I smiled brightly at my mom. It was a little nickname we both came up with.

  She gave me a grateful look, and I could tell she needed to hear that just as much as I needed to say it.

  We finished the meal without rushing. It wasn’t anything over the top, but it tasted like comfort. Afterward, I helped her clear the table and do the dishes while Kim doodled on a napkin with a dried-up marker.

  As we scrubbed side by side, I filled her in on the rest—teachers I’d met, how we didn’t get any homework (score), and that I had to choose two electives. She offered advice like she always did: calmly, practically, like someone who never got to make those kinds of choices herself.

  “Oh! Also,” I suddenly remembered, “my phone’s officially dead.”

  She paused mid-rinse. “What happened?”

  “I was scrolling through my playlist, tripped over absolutely nothing like a graceful idiot—you know: me and my two left feet—and then stepped on it to give it the final blow. It’s... basically modern art now.”

  “Oh no…” Her shoulders slumped a little.

  “Don’t worry,” I said quickly. “I’ll get a part-time job or something. Eventually I’ll buy a new one. It’s fine. Promise.”

  She opened her mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to offer something we didn’t have, then closed it again. I could see it—how much she hated not being able to fix things. But she didn’t say anything. She just nodded.

  And in that silence, I realized something: we were all doing the best we could. Holding each other up in our own ways.

  Once everything was done, I went out into the corridor and grabbed my bag, then headed to my room. It was just at the end of the hallway to the right, across the living room and next to the bathroom.

  My room wasn’t very big, but at least it was mine. My narrow bed hugged the right corner, a rickety desk sat under the window on the left, and my tiny wardrobe with the chipped mirror leaned against the wall by the door. My clothes barely filled half of it, but I didn’t need much. I’d given the larger bedroom to Kim—she played more, had more toys, and honestly, she needed the space more than I did.

  I dug through my bag for the list of electives and closed my door. When I found it, I dropped my bag and threw myself onto the bed. My eyes flew over the paper while I studied the text in detail. Wow—there really was a huge selection. Quite the surprise a school like that can accommodate so many different subjects. It would be hard to narrow it down to just two, but it also got me pretty excited. Among the options were fencing, painting, astrology, and cooking. They offered an entire buffet of classes I’d never even imagined.

  I had no idea what to choose. With my back leaned against the wall, I rested my chin in one palm and put on my thinking cap.

  There was a karate class, which briefly tempted me—but I already knew Aikido, a Japanese martial art my father had taught me over the years, which I still practiced on my own. So I scratched that idea.

  It made sense to pick something new. Something useful. Something I was actually interested in.

  Cooking... now that was a possibility. I was terrible at it—which made it both a challenge and a survival skill. Plus, there would probably be more girls in that class, and maybe I could even surprise Mom with a homemade meal someday. I put a checkmark next to Cooking Class.

  The rest—school newspaper (the one Lea was part of), painting, media design, gardening, and astrology—just didn’t appeal to me. That left Fencing, Athletics, and Parkour. All sounded fun. All involved movement. And all made the decision a nightmare.

  I ran a hand through my hair and stared at the paper, willing it to make the choice for me. In the end, I chose Parkour. I already had some experience with rolling and falling techniques from Aikido, and the obstacle course idea sounded exciting.

  When I finally looked at the clock, I realized it was way past bedtime. Seriously? Had it really taken me that long to decide? My eyelids confirmed what the clock was telling me—I was exhausted. I shuffled into the living room, just across my bedroom, and wished Mom and Kim goodnight. My sister was curled up like a little kitten next to my mother on the sofa, resting her head on her lap. It was her usual bedtime routine. Seeing this peaceful picture, my heart warmed.

  Knowing the two of them were doing fine, I went back into my room and changed into pajamas, before brushing my teeth. All ready for sleep, I almost collapsed into my bed.

  The day had been so packed, I fell asleep instantly.

  —

  I dreamed of men—countless men—standing in a vast, black, endless void. They weren’t moving, just... waiting. I was above them somehow, floating, observing from a distance I couldn’t measure. Their faces blurred into one another, vague and faceless like shadows sketched in charcoal. But among them, one stood in perfect clarity.

  Of course it was him.

  Sir Smirks-a-Lot. Mr. Definitely-Not-a-Stalker-Except-Yes-You-Are.

  He stood at the front of the crowd, like some dramatic lead actor in an overproduced stage play, bathed in nonexistent spotlight. Unlike the others, he was sharp and vivid, every detail annoyingly clear—his ridiculous hair, that unreadable face, and those stupid glowy glacier-eyes staring directly at me.

  He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there in perfect stillness like he knew I was watching.

  And worst of all? He wasn’t even being smug about it. No sly smirk, no raised eyebrow. Just that warm, steady gaze—like I was something fragile and interesting and… worth seeing. Like I was something he’d been waiting for. It made my chest feel weirdly tight, like I was bracing for something I didn’t understand.

  Still, I couldn’t look away.

  A thought hit me out of nowhere, slipping out of my mouth before I could stop it—quiet, certain, like a truth I already knew but had forgotten how to say:

  Sometimes the eyes are the only place the truth can’t hide.

  It wasn’t a romantic dream. There was no touching, no whispering, no swirling emotions. Just him, standing there, still and sure, like he knew something I didn’t. Like he was waiting for me to figure it out.

  The other men—if they even counted as people—faded into nothing. He was the only one that stayed.

  And yet... I was supposed to hate men. I did hate them. I didn’t trust them, didn’t want to trust them. But there he was, standing in the silence of my mind like some ridiculous stalker-ghost, making my chest ache for no damn reason.

  The whole thing felt weird. Had I really become that paranoid?

  Raven was probably right giving me this idiotic nickname.

  I woke up with a scowl on my face and my blanket tangled around me like I’d tried to strangle it in my sleep. My heart was beating faster than it had any right to, and for half a second, I actually missed being in that void.

  But then my brain kicked in and connected the final dot. What bothered me, thinking back at our conversation.

  There was no training ground nearby. No sports fields. No gym. No dojo. It was one of the first things I checked when we moved. I would’ve noticed something like that. Which meant that Prince Charming of the Alleyways had been full of it. He must’ve lied. About where he trained. About what he was doing.

  Which only confirmed what I already knew deep down:

  Raven Payne was definitely a stalker.

  A very persistent, absurdly fit, dream-haunting stalker with infuriatingly warm eyes.

  And I had a feeling that this was only the beginning. Fantastic.