The monster I was obsessed with

The following morning, the college campus was buzzing with its usual restless energy.

As Amyra walked down the crowded corridor toward her lecture hall, her steps were measured and slow, exactly as they were every other day. Beneath the low brim of her black cap, her eyes remained fixed on the floor.

Then, out of nowhere, a sharp sound shattered the ambient noise.

CRACK!

A resounding slap connected squarely with Amyra’s cheek. The blow was so sudden and violent that it snapped her head to the side. The cap flew off her head, instantly exposing the fresh, raw wound on her forehead from the night before.

Standing in front of her was a girl from the same college, panting with rage. Her eyes burned with pure malice.

"Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Acting all innocent on the outside, while you’re so utterly disgusting on the inside!" the girl shrieked, her voice instantly freezing the surrounding students in their tracks.

Amyra said nothing. She simply pressed a hand against her rapidly reddening cheek.

"Look at this girl, everyone!" the girl yelled, turning to the gathering crowd. "She acts like she doesn’t know a thing, but behind the scenes, she’s throwing herself at my boyfriend! Sneaking around with him! I won’t let you get away with this, Amyra. I am going to put you exactly where you belong!"

Within seconds, a thick crowd of students swarmed the corridor, the air filling with hushed, judgmental whispers.

Amyra just stood there. Her face remained a blank canvas, but then, a solitary tear welled up in the corner of her eye and slowly traced a path down her cheek. Even while weeping, her expression was disturbingly calm. In a trembling, barely audible voice, she whispered:

"I... I don’t even know him."

The moment those frail words left Amyra’s lips, the tide of the crowd instantly turned. The onlookers began to glare at the aggressor, muttering in disapproval.

"Has she lost her mind? Amyra has never so much as looked at a guy in this college. Why on earth would she steal someone’s boyfriend?" a student remarked aloud.

"Yeah, she can't keep her own relationship together, so she’s taking it out on this poor girl," another girl whispered.

"Get out of the way!"

Suddenly, Zehran parted the crowd and stepped into the center of the commotion. The moment his eyes fell on the crimson finger marks burning on Amyra’s cheek and the grim injury on her forehead, his blood boiled. A terrifying, uncharacteristic fury flared in his usually warm, innocent eyes.

"How dare you lay a hand on her?" Zehran roared at the girl, his voice echoing off the walls. "You’ve created this entire pathetic circus without a single shred of proof! Apologize to Amyra right now, or I promise you, this will not end well for you."

Faced with the sheer weight of Zehran’s wrath, the girl shrank back slightly. Yet, driven by hysteria, she screamed back, "You’re all falling for her act! She is a psycho! This is all a game to her... you have no idea how many lives she has ruined!"

Before she could finish her sentence, a violent crash erupted from inside the lecture hall.

BAM! CRASH!

The crowd flinched, scrambling backward. Inside the hall, a boy was tearing the room apart in a fit of absolute, unbridled rage. His name was Ruhan.

Ruhan was furiously kicking the lecture hall chairs, sending the wood and iron structures smashing into one another and splintering across the floor. Stalking out into the corridor, his eyes locked onto the girl who had started the fight. Without a second thought, he snatched her bag and violently hurled it across the hallway. Books burst open, and loose pages scattered through the air like autumn leaves.

Ruhan was the only son of the state’s mayor. He was the wealthiest, most powerful, and most influential student on campus. The sheer, chilling authority in his eyes ensured that no one dared to cross him. The entire corridor plummeted into a dead, suffocating silence.

Panting heavily, Ruhan swept a cold, menacing gaze across the stunned crowd. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet, dripping with malice.

"I am here to study in peace. If anyone creates a pathetic scene like this ever again, I will do things to you that your worst nightmares couldn't conjure. Get out."

Hearing the blatant threat from the mayor's son, the crowd dispersed in a matter of seconds. Terrified, the girl abandoned her scattered books and fled down the hallway.

But amidst that chaotic scramble, while everyone’s attention was locked onto Ruhan... Amyra slowly lifted her head. She watched the retreating back of the girl who had slapped her. And in that precise moment, a terrifying, manic smile crept onto Amyra's face—a smile so deeply unhinged it would make anyone's skin crawl. The tear in her eye had completely dried, replaced by a lethal, predatory gleam.

Yet, in the commotion, her smile went entirely unnoticed.

Moments later, a professor was spotted walking toward the classroom. Students quickly filed back to their respective seats. Without a word, Amyra walked inside and reclaimed her spot in the farthest corner of the room.

Glancing out the window, she noticed Zehran sprinting away from the building, heading rapidly toward the college's main gates. Where was he going in such a frantic rush? Amyra watched him recede into the distance, her gaze completely unblinking.

At the exact same time, sitting across the classroom in the opposite corner, Ruhan was staring at Amyra. His gaze was heavy, intense, and layered with an unreadable complexity. Was it rage? Jealousy? Or perhaps... a dark, deeply buried secret?

Nearly halfway through the lecture, the back door creaked open, and Zehran slipped back inside. He was breathless, his chest heaving slightly. In his hand, he carried an icepack. Shielding himself from the professor's view, he slid into the seat right next to Amyra and covertly slid the icepack across the desk toward her.

"Put this on your cheek," Zehran instructed in a low, fiercely protective whisper. "You shouldn't tolerate behavior from trashy girls like that, Amyra. You need to learn to stand up for yourself. Someone won't always be there to save you."

Amyra took the icepack. She turned her head and looked at him.

Her fingers rested against the cold surface of the pack, but her mind was entirely ensnared by the memory of his touch and the sudden warmth of his concern. Inside her, the shadows deepened, stretching into an even profounder darkness.

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