The next morning, the college was buzzing—but not with the usual sleepy chatter or rushed footsteps. No, today was different. A chill ran down everyone's spine as they gathered in the central courtyard. The large library window, usually spotless, was smeared with thick, crimson letters.
"SHE'S NEXT."
Gasps echoed. Some students screamed. The security guard was already on the phone, but nobody dared step closer.
Amidst the panic, Zain and Alzan stood at the edge of the crowd, their faces unreadable. Zain's eyes scanned the surroundings, sharp and observant. Alzan had that calculating look, already piecing things together in his mind. They weren't just any students—they had taken up the unofficial role of "college detectives," especially after the incidents last month. This wasn't their first rodeo.
And in the midst of it all, Junaid leaned casually against a pillar, arms folded, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as Simran stood next to him, visibly unsettled.
"You scared?" he asked, his voice teasing, low, just for her.
She glanced at him, frowning. "Why would I be? It's probably a prank."
"Mmhm," he stepped closer, eyes locking onto hers, voice almost a whisper, "But what if it isn't?"
She rolled her eyes, trying to push the unease down. "You're not helping, Junaid."
He chuckled and leaned in, brushing her hair behind her ear like it was nothing. "Guess you'll need someone to walk you to class then. Protect you from… blood-writing ghosts." He winked.
"Shut up," she muttered, cheeks betraying her with a flush.
Zain interrupted, calling them over. "You guys need to see this. It's not paint."
Alzan knelt down near the base of the window, gloves on, dabbing at the crimson with a tissue. He looked up at the others, voice tight. "This is real blood."
A hush fell again.
And somewhere behind the crowd, a shadow moved.