Rayyan Shah had always been watched.

By girls. By teachers. By fake friends who laughed at all his jokes. He was used to it — the attention, the whispers, the heavy stares across classrooms.

But this… this was different.

This stare wasn’t casual. It wasn’t playful.

It was intense. Heavy. Unblinking. Like someone had peeled off his skin and was studying what was underneath.

He shifted in his seat at the back of the campus library, his eyes flicking up over the edge of his laptop screen.

Still there.

The boy sat three tables away, tucked in the shadows between the shelves. Dressed in black. Hood up. Book open but untouched. Staring — no, watching him.

Every. Single. Day.

Rayyan didn’t even know his name. But lately, that face haunted him even when he wasn’t on campus. That sharp jawline. Those dark eyes. The way he never looked away.

It should’ve creeped him out.

And at first — it did.

But now… there was a strange tug in his chest. Not fear. Not really. Something darker. Something curious. Why him? Why like this?

He closed his laptop and stood up, heart oddly fast in his chest. If he turned toward the door, he’d pass the boy’s table.

His feet moved before his brain could argue.

As he walked by, he glanced sideways. The boy's gaze was still locked on him, unmoving. There was no embarrassment. No guilt. Just possession. As if Rayyan already belonged to him.

Rayyan stopped walking.

"Do you know me?" he asked, voice casual — too casual.

The boy blinked, once. Slowly. Then he smiled, just a little.

"I will."

Rayyan’s breath caught in his throat. The voice was low, calm, but something about it — the certainty — made his skin tighten.

“I’ve seen you before,” the boy added, the voice softer now, “but not like this.”

Rayyan’s brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

The boy tilted his head. “It means I notice the real things about people. Even the parts they try to hide.”

He leaned forward just slightly, resting his chin on one hand.

“You’re not as happy as you pretend to be, Rayyan.”

Rayyan froze.

He never told him his name.

“You’re not as happy as you pretend to be, Rayyan.”

Rayyan froze. The air seemed to stop moving around him.

His name. He never said it. Never introduced himself. Never posted it on any of the library booking logs.

“How do you know my name?” he asked, voice low.

The boy didn’t look guilty. If anything, his smile widened. Not friendly. Not cruel. Just… calm. Unsettlingly calm.

“I listen,” he said simply. “You talk to your friends. Professors. Girls who flirt with you. You don’t notice when people are listening, do you?”

Rayyan took a half step back.

“You’re stalking me.”

The boy shrugged, like that word didn’t bother him at all. “Maybe. Or maybe I just see you better than anyone else does.”

Rayyan’s pulse raced. He should’ve walked away by now. Called someone. Told a friend.

But his feet stayed planted.

“You really think this is normal?” Rayyan asked, eyes narrowing. “Following me. Watching me. Knowing my name?”

Zayan leaned forward now, the faint light catching the hollow of his cheeks, the sharp curve of his jaw.

“I don’t care about normal,” he said. “I care about you.”

Rayyan swallowed hard. His throat felt dry. The worst part? There was no mockery in the boy’s voice. No sarcasm. It wasn’t a line.

It was a promise.

“Why?” Rayyan whispered. “You don’t even know me.”

Zayan's eyes burned darker. “Because I’ve been alone my whole life. And then I saw you. And for once, I didn’t feel alone anymore.”

The silence that followed was thick. Tense. Not even the humming library lights dared to interrupt.

Rayyan stepped back again, but slower this time.

“I have to go,” he said finally.

Zayan didn’t stop him. Didn’t stand. Didn’t move.

He just said one last thing, low and certain:

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Rayyan didn’t look back as he walked away — but he felt it. That gaze.

Still watching.

Still waiting.

And for the first time in a long time, Rayyan wasn’t sure if he felt afraid…

Or excited.

---

[To be continued...]

Chapter 2:

The next morning, Rayyan woke up feeling… watched.

It was stupid. Irrational. Paranoid, even.

But the feeling clung to him like mist — heavy and invisible.

He shook it off, dragging himself out of bed, trying to refocus. He had a class presentation at 10, a project due at 2, and a group meeting he didn’t want to attend.

No time to think about creepy library boys with cold smiles and warmer eyes.

But that smile — the calmness of it — wouldn’t leave his head.

> “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

---

By 3 p.m., Rayyan had managed to go the whole day without seeing him.

No Zayan in the lecture hall. No Zayan in the cafeteria. No shadowy figure leaning against the library railing.

Maybe he got the message, Rayyan told himself.

Or maybe… maybe he imagined the whole thing to be more than it was.

He pushed open the gate to the student residence area, eyes on his phone, distracted.

And that’s when he saw him.

Leaning against the wall near the entrance.

Hood down this time. Arms crossed. Eyes locked onto Rayyan like they never left.

Rayyan stopped short.

“You’re kidding,” he muttered under his breath.

Zayan didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Just stood there, watching.

“Are you seriously following me now?” Rayyan said, louder this time.

“I said I’d see you tomorrow,” Zayan replied smoothly, stepping closer. “I don’t break promises.”

Rayyan’s breath caught — not out of fear.

Out of something else.

This wasn’t like those movies where the stalker is messy and unpredictable.

Zayan was too composed. Controlled. Intentional.

“I live here,” Rayyan snapped. “You don’t. So you need to leave.”

Zayan nodded slowly, gaze unreadable. “I know. I’m not staying. I just wanted to make sure you got back safe.”

Rayyan stared at him. “Why would you care?”

A pause.

Zayan’s voice dropped, quieter now. “Because I saw you yesterday — in the parking lot. That guy who grabbed your arm. The one in the black leather jacket.”

Rayyan stiffened. His fingers curled around the strap of his bag. That had happened. He didn’t think anyone had noticed.

“How did you—”

“I see everything when it comes to you.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Look,” Rayyan said, voice softer now, “I don’t know what you think this is, but we don’t even know each other.”

Zayan finally looked away, just for a moment. “I know that,” he said. “But I will. If you let me.”

Rayyan didn’t move.

“I’m not a project,” he said. “And I’m definitely not a puzzle you get to solve.”

Zayan looked back at him then. And this time, his voice was firm.

“You’re not a puzzle,” he said. “You’re the answer.”

Rayyan’s heart slammed once in his chest — loud enough to make him dizzy.

He turned away, forcing himself toward the gate.

But even with his back turned, he could feel it again.

That gaze.

Following. Watching.

Claiming.

---

Chapter 3:

By the next morning, Rayyan had made a decision.

> Ignore him.

Zayan wanted attention? He wouldn’t get it.

This wasn’t some twisted romance. It wasn’t flattering. It was weird. Obsessive. Creepy.

No matter how good he smelled up close.

No matter how calm his voice made Rayyan’s head feel.

No. He needed to draw the line.

Rayyan spent the day glued to his routine. Class. Lunch. Library — not the back table. He sat up front now, near other students, in full view.

But even there, he couldn’t shake the feeling.

The air felt… watched.

---

That night, Rayyan tossed his hoodie onto the back of his desk chair and dropped into bed. His phone buzzed — two texts from a girl in his class, one meme from his best friend, and one unknown number:

> Unknown

You always leave your window unlocked.

Rayyan sat up so fast the blanket slipped off his chest.

He looked toward the window.

Closed.

But… had he locked it?

His heart pounded as he walked to it, fingers trembling as he slid the latch into place. He scanned the street below. Nothing. Nobody. Just dark pavement and the occasional flash of passing headlights.

> It’s a joke, he told himself. Probably one of your friends messing around. Probably.

He texted back:

> You are seriously messed up. Who is this?

No reply.

---

The next morning, Rayyan woke up already tense. His apartment felt colder. The air still. Heavy. Like someone had been inside.

He stood, heart thudding, and looked around his room.

Nothing missing.

Nothing broken.

Nothing obviously wrong…

Except—

His hoodie.

It was folded. Neatly. Perfectly.

Rayyan never folded his clothes. Ever.

He reached for it, heart racing. A note slipped out from the folds and landed softly on the floor.

One line.

Written in tiny, precise handwriting:

> Even glass walls can't protect you when I already know what’s inside.

Rayyan’s blood went cold.

He looked around again, half-expecting someone to step out of the shadows. But he was alone.

Totally alone.

And somehow… not.

---

That evening, when he left class early, Zayan was waiting.

Leaning against a tree. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Like nothing was wrong.

Rayyan walked straight up to him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped.

Zayan looked up. Calm. Expressionless.

“I told you. I care.”

“This isn’t caring,” Rayyan hissed. “It’s obsession. It’s messed up. Are you in my apartment now? Is that you texting me?”

Zayan’s eyes flickered — just slightly.

“I just want to keep you safe.”

Rayyan stepped back. “You’re insane.”

Zayan didn’t move. “Maybe. But you still came to me.”

Rayyan froze.

Because he had. On instinct. After everything — he sought Zayan out.

Why?

Why did part of him feel safer here — with the person he should fear the most?

Rayyan’s pulse hadn’t calmed since that morning. His mind kept replaying it — the note, the folded hoodie, the text. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined someone standing over him while he slept.

Watching. Breathing. Touching things they had no right to.

He didn’t go home that night.

He couldn’t.

Instead, he walked aimlessly around campus until the sun dipped low, and the lamps flickered on, casting long shadows across the walkways.

He ended up on the old bridge behind the science building — the one no one used. It was quiet here. No eyes. No whispers. Just the faint rustle of leaves and his own ragged breathing.

Until—

Footsteps.

He didn’t even have to turn around.

“I’m not in the mood,” Rayyan said sharply.

Zayan’s voice came soft from behind. “You looked like you needed someone.”

Rayyan spun around, eyes burning. “Do you even hear yourself? I need space. I need privacy. Not someone stalking me through text and breaking into my room!”

“I didn’t break in.”

Rayyan blinked. “So you admit it?”

Zayan stepped closer, calm and steady. “Your window was open. That’s not breaking. That’s entering.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Rayyan shoved past him, but Zayan’s voice followed like a tether.

“I folded your hoodie because I thought you'd want someone to take care of you for once.”

Rayyan stopped.

Zayan continued, quieter now. “I see you. Behind the smiles. Behind all the friends and noise. No one notices when you’re tired. Or when your hands shake after arguments. Or when you skip meals.”

His voice broke slightly. “But I do.”

Rayyan didn’t turn. Couldn’t. His throat tightened.

“How do you know those things?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“I watch,” Zayan replied. “And I remember.”

Rayyan closed his eyes, chest rising with unspoken words.

This should have scared him more.

It should have made him run.

But instead… he felt something worse.

Seen.

And part of him — the broken, tired, invisible part — wanted to be seen. Even if it came in the shape of obsession.

“I don’t know what this is,” Rayyan murmured. “But you can’t keep doing it.”

Zayan took one final step forward. “Tell me to stop. And mean it.”

Rayyan turned, their eyes locking in the dim light.

But he didn’t speak.

Didn’t say stop.

Didn’t move away.

He just stood there — heart beating too fast, breath caught between fear and something dangerously close to craving.

Zayan’s eyes softened for the first time.

“You don’t want me to stop,” he whispered.

And Rayyan… said nothing.