The monster I was obsessed with

The college lecture had ended hours ago. A deep, suffocating night had now fully settled over the city.

In her usual fashion, Amyra sat in the dark, silent corner of her dilapidated room, having spoken to no one all day. From the front room, her mother’s sharp, bitter voice echoed through the house. But to Amyra, the screaming was nothing more than static—noise in an unknown language that couldn’t touch her.

A little while later, the heavy front door slammed shut with a deafening rattle. Her mother had stormed out of the house, muttering curses under her breath.

Even after an hour had passed, not a single crease of worry appeared on Amyra's pale face. The only sound in the room was the rhythmic, metallic tick-tick of the wall clock.

Then, suddenly, her phone began to vibrate violently against the wooden desk.

The screen lit up, pulsing in the dark: Mom Calling...

Amyra stared at the blinking screen for a few long seconds with cold, indifferent eyes. Then, with absolute calmness, she swiped the screen and pressed the receiver to her ear.

There were no screams from the other end. No angry insults.

Only shallow, ragged gasps, and the distorted, agonizing sounds of someone choking on their own breath.

"...A... Amyra..."

"...He... help... listen to..."

The voice sounded incredibly distant, as if echoing from the bottom of a deep, dark well. Amyra listened without blinking. There was no panic in her eyes, no anger, no rush of adrenaline. Without uttering a single word, she slowly lifted a finger and tapped the screen, cutting the call.

The room plunged back into its frozen, heavy silence.

Amyra walked over to her wardrobe. Reaching into its depths, she pulled out an old digital camera—the one she kept meticulously hidden in a secret compartment of her college bag every single day.

As she powered it on, the blue glare of the screen washed over her porcelain face.

She connected the camera to her laptop, and one by one, the printer beside her began to hum, spitting out glossy photographs.

Every single one of them was of Zehran.

The college corridor...

A quiet corner of the library...

A wooden bench in the campus garden...

The bustling crowd of the cafeteria...

Every shot had been captured stealthily—taken from behind trees, through the gaps of half-open doors, or from the shadow of brick walls. In some, Zehran was laughing; in others, he was simply walking.

Amyra took the first picture and pinned it to the wall. Then the second. Then the third.

But as she went to hang the fourth, she suddenly froze. Her entire body went rigid.

The photograph was crooked. Perhaps by no more than half an inch, but to her, the tilt was monstrous.

Her breathing fractured, turning shallow and rapid. An intense, clawing anxiety rushed through her brain.

"No... it can't be like this."

With trembling fingers, she ripped the photo off the wall and realigned it, pressing it back down. She stepped back to inspect it. Unsatisfied, she stepped forward again, adjusting it by a millimeter. She repeated the process until it was absolutely, flawlessly level.

Only then did her racing heart quiet down.

A smile crept back onto her lips—cold, hollow, and deeply unsettling.

"There... much better."

She stepped so close to the wall that her breath misted over the glossy paper. Gently, her fingertips traced the contours of Zehran's printed face.

"You wore a blue shirt today. Blue looks beautiful on you, Zehran."

Silence swallowed her words. Then, she let out a soft, breathy giggle, as if Zehran had just whispered a witty reply back to her.

"You talk so much to everyone else... why don't you talk to me here?" She drifted her gaze to another photo. In this one, Zehran was smiling directly toward her direction—captured the exact moment he had sat next to her in class.

"You chose to sit next to me today... Did you like being near me too?"

For a long time, she remained in the desolate room, whispering secrets to the lifeless prints. But suddenly, the manic gleam in her eyes vanished, replaced by a bottomless, pitch-black void.

Her fingernails dug into the wallpaper, scraping against the plaster as she whispered, "No one can take you from me. No one."

Meanwhile, in the city's most affluent neighborhood, the grand estate of 'Al-Raza Villa' stood bathed in warm, luxurious light. Manicured lawns glistened under the spray of automatic sprinklers, and inside, the atmosphere was exceptionally serene.

Zehran sat on a plush leather sofa, casually sipping coffee with his friend, Aryan.

Aryan took a sip from his cup, a curious smirk playing on his face. "Hey man... can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead," Zehran replied, his eyes tracing the steam rising from his mug.

"Why do you keep sitting next to that girl lately?"

Zehran set his cup down on the glass table. "Which girl?"

"You know who. Amyra. The entire college thinks she’s a total freak. People won't even walk down the same hallway as her, yet you sit next to her like you’ve been best friends for years."

A faint, enigmatic smile touched Zehran’s lips. "People usually only see, Aryan..." He paused, his gaze drifting toward the vast darkness stretching outside the floor-to-ceiling glass window, "...what they are allowed to see."

Aryan frowned, thoroughly bewildered. "What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t get it."

"Nothing." Zehran stood up and walked over to the window, staring out into the night. When he spoke again, his voice carried an unexpected, chilling weight. "Just remember... not every quiet person is harmless. And not every smiling face is innocent."

Aryan burst into a hearty laugh. "Whoa, alright! Since when did you become such a deep philosopher?"

Zehran turned back and smiled, joining in the lighthearted moment.

But this time, the warm, innocent spark that usually danced in his eyes at college was entirely absent. They were flat, calculating, and dangerously cold.

Right then, the phone in his pocket vibrated sharply.

He pulled it out. There was no contact name on the screen—only a string of digits labeled: Private Number.

The moment Zehran saw the screen, the easy smile vanished from his face, wiped away in an instant. He shot a brief, guarded look at Aryan, and without saying a word, turned on his heel and walked out into the quiet corridor.

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