Episode 2

My first day of classes went better than I could have hoped. Sasha was everything—loud, bubbly, practically magnetic—and it wasn’t long before she had a whole group of students laughing around her like she’d known them forever. She had that effect on people, drawing them in with an ease I couldn’t even fake.

I, on the other hand, had the opposite reaction. By the time lunch rolled around, I could feel the cold glares from half the girls in the room. I didn’t need to hear the whispers to know what they were thinking. It wasn’t the first time I’d walked into a new place and immediately been labeled as the competitor. Apparently, just existing was enough to make me their enemy.

It wasn’t my fault. If my face was too much for them, well, they’d just have to deal with it.

After the final lecture, I was sliding my books into my bag, eager to slip out unnoticed, when Sasha swooped in with that irrepressible grin of hers.

"Where are you going? Don’t tell me you’re heading straight home. It’s barely noon!"

I leaned back against the desk, tired already. "What else would I do? I’m completely new to this city. It’s not like I know where to go."

Her eyes lit up instantly. "Well, that settles it. Since you’re the new girl, I'm officially your tour guide," she clasped her hands together like she’d just made a blood pact. "Besides, I need company for a little trip. Come with me, please? I’ll treat you to ice cream."

"I don’t like ice cream," my voice came out flat.

She blinked at me like I’d just confessed to murder. "Don’t lie. What girl on earth doesn’t like ice cream?"

"Me," I deadpanned.

Her mouth twisted as she tapped her chin theatrically. "Fine. Peanut butter sandwich, then?"

"I’m allergic to peanuts."

She groaned, throwing her head back. "You’re impossible! Okay, fine, let’s simplify this. I’ll treat you to lunch. I know a place with the absolute best grilled chicken in the city. You can’t say no to that."

A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. "That actually sounds wonderful, all right."

Her grin widened in triumph. "Perfect, you’re going to thank me later."

We left together, weaving through the busy corridor. Male students passed us, some bold enough to stop me with offers of chocolate bars or roses. I accepted politely, mostly to avoid being rude. Sasha didn’t seem the least bit jealous or threatened, if anything, she looked amused, like she was watching a parade.

Once we reached the parking lot, she pulled a camera out of her bag—high quality, sleek, and heavy, the kind you saw in magazines. She fiddled with the lens while I watched.

"That’s a fantastic camera," I said honestly. The engraved strap caught my attention. "It even has your name on it."

Her hands stilled for a beat. "Yeah, my mom gave it to me before she passed away. It’s my treasure. My heirloom, I guess," her voice softened for just a moment before she shook it off. She opened her car door. "Anyway—hop in."

"What about my car?" I asked, gesturing toward my car I’d parked earlier.

"Someone will park it back to your apartment later. Just text me your address."

There was no arguing with her. She handled things with such ease it was almost irritating. I slid into the passenger seat and sent her my address while she started the engine.

...•••...

We drove farther than I expected, away from the busy city center into quieter, older streets. The buildings here were tall and grim, moss climbing up their damp stone walls. The air grew heavier, cooler, and for some reason my chest tightened.

When she finally parked, I stepped out, unsure where we were. She already had her camera raised, snapping photos of the place like she was in heaven.

In front of us stood a cluster of abandoned structures—grand once, maybe, but now fading under layers of neglect. The largest one loomed above the rest, its windows shattered, its doorway gaping like a mouth. The sight gave me goosebumps.

Driven by curiosity, I wandered closer.

"Wait," she called, grabbing my arm before I could linger too long outside. With surprising force, she tugged me through the doorway. Dust swirled around us as we entered. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of old wood and mildew.

"This is incredible," she whispered, clearly delighted. She wandered the cavernous room like it was her playground, snapping shot after shot. Then she brushed off the surface of a sturdy wooden table and motioned to me. "Sit there, just for one photo."

I hesitated. The shadows pressed close around us, and every creak of the old beams made me jump. "Are you sure this place isn’t haunted?"

She rolled her eyes as she set up her tripod. "Nope. I did my research. This building was a vanity project, built by some mayor for political gatherings but nobody came here anymore, he abandoned it. And even if ghosts do exist, they don’t clock in during daylight hours, unless—" her tone turned teasing. "You’re thinking vampires?"

"Vampires are supposed to be afraid of the sun," I said.

"You’ve been reading the wrong books," she countered, snapping the shutter with a smirk. "Garlic, crosses, sunlight—that’s all fairy tale nonsense. The real legends say something very different."

I shook my head. "I don’t believe in legends, or vampires."

She grinned, reviewing the photo. "Funny, you said you believed in ghosts."

I laughed despite myself. She handed me the camera, and I glanced down. The photo startled me. Somehow, in the frame, I looked different—beautiful, but also otherworldly. The cracked walls behind me suited me too well, as if I belonged in that place more than I belonged under the university’s bright lights.

"You’re incredible," I admitted. "Every shot you take looks like art."

She beamed.

True to her promise, she later drove us to the grilled chicken restaurant. The food was mouthwatering, smoky and tender, and for the first time since arriving in the city, I felt like maybe I belonged here.

...•••...

...(4 days later)...

My life had settled into a rhythm faster than I expected. University during the day. Sasha filling the spaces in between with her relentless energy. And at night, I painted.

That evening, I stood in the center of my living room, staring at a blank canvas. My apartment was still sparsely furnished, boxes shoved against walls, but the canvas made it feel alive. I picked up my brush and began without a plan, letting instinct guide me.

Hours slipped past unnoticed. When I finally stepped back, my heart thudded. On the canvas was an ancient castle, its towers half-lost in mist. I didn’t know where it had come from—only that it felt familiar, too familiar.

Shaking the unease away, I hung the painting on my wall. It looked perfect there, proud and haunting.

...•••...

The next morning was a free day. I called Sasha and invited her over, mostly because the silence in my apartment felt too heavy. She showed up in record time, practically bursting through the door.

"You live here?" she spun slowly in the center of the room, hands on hips. "Not bad. Definitely needs more furniture, though."

"I haven’t had time to shop," I said, dragging her to the sofa. "Sit. I’ll get drinks."

"Do you have orange juice?" she asked, flipping through channels on my TV like she owned the place.

I returned with juice and cookies. She reached for the glass, then her eyes caught on the painting.

"Whoa. Did you do that?"

"Yes," I said casually, though I felt a flicker of pride. "Finished it last night, paint might still be tacky."

"It’s breathtaking," she whispered, standing to look closer. "Your imagination blows mine out of the water."

"Don’t downplay your own work," I scolded gently.

She waved me off, still staring. "I’m serious, this is prize-winning stuff."

Then, without warning, she pulled out her phone. "Hey, there’s an art competition running this week. Winners get cash—perfect for sprucing up this apartment. Hold on, let me check the details—"

Before I could object, she snapped a photo of my painting then typing furiously.

"Sasha—"

"You’re in," she interrupted, grinning. "I registered you just now. I even submitted this painting."

I groaned, annoyed but too tired to argue. "You could have asked first."

The next morning, my phone buzzed with a notification. My painting had won. Out of thousands of entries, the judges had chosen mine. They praised the colors, the emotion, the vibe.

I sat on my bed in stunned silence, staring at the message. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that I could win.

And yet—I had.

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