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My pulse skips a beat when our eyes meet, and a jolt of recognition passes between us. The man watches me intently, his piercing stare holding me captive. Everything else disappears, and it’s only us, connected by an inexplicable tether.
Snapping out of my trance, I quickly avert my gaze and shuffle to an empty seat. What are the odds of him being here in this very class? Surely it’s just a coincidence. And yet, a nagging voice in the back of my mind whispers that it’s no coincidence.
As the professor launches into the syllabus, I find concentrating impossible.
Who is he? And why can’t I shake the feeling that he’s been following me?
The professor’s voice drones on, but the words fail to register as my mind drifts back to those piercing blue eyes. My eyes keep flitting toward the shadowy figure in the back row, searching for any indication that my imagination isn’t playing tricks on me.
He sits motionless with his penetrating gaze fixed on me. Our eyes meet again, his stare seeming to bore into my soul. At that moment, I’m transported back to the chaos of the carnival, the flashing lights, and watching him knock that jerk out with one hit.
Shaking my head, I bring my focus back to the lecture, scribbling notes halfheartedly. But no matter how hard I try, that sense of unease refuses to ease.
I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Shoving my laptop into my bag, I glance toward the back row, only to find the seat vacant. My heart sinks as I scan the thinning crowd, but there’s no sign of the stranger.
Am I going insane? I wonder as I exit the classroom.
Perhaps the stress of starting a new semester has caught up with me. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m notimagining any of this, and some ridiculously attractive man is stalking me like a psycho.
As I step out into the crisp autumn air, a shudder runs through me. I quicken my pace, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of my paranoia.
“Hey Tilly, wait up!”
I turn to see Amy, her friendly smile welcoming.
“Amy, hey! What’s up?” I try to muster an air of nonchalance, but my voice wavers ever so slightly.
“I was just about to grab a bite to eat,” she says. “You look like you could use a break. Wanna join me?”
I’m grateful for the invitation. “You know what? That sounds perfect,” I reply, offering her a genuine smile. “Lead the way.”
We walk together, the comfortable silence between us providing a much-needed reprieve from the whirlwind of questions in my mind.
“So, you wanna talk about what’s got you so spooked?” Amy asks, her tone gentle yet probing.
I hesitate, unsure how to articulate my thoughts which have been bugging me since the carnival three nights ago. Shrugging my shoulders, I wave my hand. “It’s nothing. I’m just a little drained from the first week back. You know how it is.”
The lie rolls off my tongue with surprising ease, but a pang of guilt tugs at me. Amy has been my closest friend at college since our first year, always there to lend an understanding ear or a supportive shoulder. And yet, here I am, keeping her at arm’s length, shutting her out from the unease that’s been swirling within me.
But what choice do I have? How can I possibly articulate the fear that’s been gnawing at me since that bizarre encounter at the carnival? The inexplicable sense that someone is watching my every move, waiting in the shadows for the perfect moment to strike?
It’s better to keep these unsettling thoughts to myself. To voice them out loud would only cement the notion that I’m losing my grip on reality, spiraling down a rabbit hole of paranoia fueled by an overactive imagination.
Amy’s brow furrows ever so slightly. “This semester is already shaping up to be a doozy. Maybe we should soon plan a girl’s night, blow off some steam.”
I smile at the prospect of a much-needed respite from the relentless onslaught of classes and assignments. “That sounds amazing. Count me in.”
We lapse into a comfortable silence as we make our way across campus, the paranoia eased by the promise of quality time with my best friend. Amy has an uncanny ability to ground me, to provide a steady anchor amidst the chaos that so often threatens to engulf me.
Still, as we approach the bustling coffee shop, I can’t resist taking quick looks over my shoulder, scanning the sea of faces for the mysterious stranger from the carnival. A shiver runs down my spine as my gaze lands on a figure lurking in the shadows.
Is it him? Or am I merely projecting my anxiety on some random person?
I tear my gaze away.
Get it together. Tilly. No one is following you. And theguy from the carnival being in your classroom was just a coincidence.
I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for everything. And yet, as Amy and I settle into our usual booth, the nagging sense of unease won’t go away.
