The monster I was obsessed with

The soft morning sunlight filtered through the college campus, casting a warm glow over the corridors. The hallways buzzed with the lively chatter and laughter of students—some joking around with friends, others rushing past, consumed by the anxiety of impending assignments.

Yet, amidst that vibrant, bustling crowd, there was one girl who seemed entirely detached from it all. As if she belonged to another world altogether.

Long, raven-black hair... a face of porcelain pallor... and eyes devoid of any expression. There was a silence about her so profound, it felt as though she had forgotten how to speak.

Her name was Amyra.

Like any other day, she walked through the corridor with her head bowed, navigating the crowd. She kept everyone at a distance—no friends, no enemies. If anyone ever dared to speak to her, they were met only with a hollow, freezing stare.

To the rest of the college, she was an enigma. An anomaly.

"Hey, does that girl ever even smile?" one student whispered, nudging his friend.

"Who knows... I’ve never seen her talk to a single soul," came the reply.

Amyra continued forward, entirely unfazed by the whispers.

Suddenly—

"Oh... sorry!"

A boy turned the corner too quickly, colliding straight into Amyra.

The impact sent her books scattering across the tiled floor.

"I am so sorry... that was completely my fault."

The boy immediately knelt down, gathering the books before holding them out to her.

Amyra took them silently, her expression unchanging.

The boy offered a warm, apologetic smile. "See you around..."

With that, he jogged off toward his friends.

His name was Zehran.

Tall, with an easy smile and a stride that exuded effortless confidence, he quickly melted back into the crowd.

But Amyra remained frozen in place.

Her eyes—unblinking and intense—tracked Zehran's retreating figure. She watched him until he vanished completely from her sight. Only then did the corner of her lips twitch upward into a faint, barely perceptible smile.

It was a smile that lacked any warmth. A smile that did not seem entirely human.

Evening fell, and the sun dipped below the horizon, bleeding into twilight.

Amyra walked slowly, eventually stopping before a dilapidated, weather-worn house.

The moment she pushed the door open—

CLANG!

A heavy brass utensil struck her forehead with brutal force. The metallic ring echoed sharply through the empty house.

Amyra stumbled backward, crashing onto the cold floor. A thin trickle of crimson blood began to seep down her forehead.

Standing over her was her mother. Her face was contorted with rage, her eyes burning with pure malice.

"You worthless brat!" she shrieked.

"How many times have I told you to get a job at some shop? Drop out of school! But no... you just have to defy me, don't you?"

Amyra remained silent. She didn’t even look up at her mother.

But her silence only served as fuel to the fire.

"Still silent? You won't answer me?!"

Her mother snatched a heavy wooden stick leaning against the wall.

And then, the blows fell. One after another.

Her back... her shoulders... her arms... her legs...

The heavy thuds of wood meeting flesh echoed through the room. Yet, throughout the onslaught, not a single cry escaped Amyra's lips.

No tears. No gasps of pain.

She simply lay there, taking the beating in absolute silence.

Eventually, her mother grew tired. She threw the stick aside with a huff.

"Why don't you just die?" she spat, before turning on her heel and storming out of the room.

The house fell back into a heavy, suffocating silence.

A few droplets of blood stained the floorboards. Amyra lay there, motionless.

A second passed. Then another.

Slowly, the corners of her mouth began to curl upward.

"Heh..." a soft breath escaped her.

"Ha..."

And in the next instant—

"Hahaha... Hahaha...!"

Lying flat on the bloody floor, she began to laugh hysterically. Her laughter bounced off the peeling walls of the room. Her eyes remained dry, but they shone with a bizarre, manic glint.

It was as if pain no longer registered as pain. As if, somehow, she derived a twisted sense of pleasure from it.

After a moment, she slowly lifted her right hand.

It was the hand Zehran had touched. She traced her fingers gently over the spot where his skin had brushed hers, whispering a single name into the quiet dark:

"...Zehran..."

Her smile widened, turning sharper.

The next morning, Amyra wore a black cap pulled low over her brow, concealing the wound on her forehead. She walked into the classroom and took her usual place at the very back, in the farthest corner.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open.

"Hey, is this seat taken?"

Zehran stood beside her desk, a cheerful smile playing on his lips.

Amyra didn't answer. Taking her silence as a green light, Zehran pulled out the chair and sat down beside her.

"By the way... sorry again about yesterday," he said softly, offering another warm smile.

Amyra remained a statue.

The professor entered, and the lecture began. Zehran reached into his bag to pull out his notebook. In doing so, his arm inadvertently brushed against Amyra's.

"Oh, sorry..." Zehran murmured, his attention already focused on the blackboard. He didn't think twice about the fleeting contact.

But Amyra froze.

For a fraction of a second, the breath caught in her throat. Slowly, almost mechanically, her gaze shifted.

Her eyes locked onto the profile of Zehran's face.

She didn't blink. She didn't move.

She wasn't merely looking at him; she was memorizing him. Etching every line of his face into her mind.

At the front of the room, the professor's voice droned on. Students scribbled down notes, and Zehran remained completely absorbed in the lecture.

He had absolutely no idea that right beside him, behind the mask of that quiet, pale girl, a profound darkness had just awakened.

And it was never going back to sleep.

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