Aara's POV
The school halls were too quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that came from early mornings or empty classrooms.The kind of quiet that follows just before the slaughter.
She felt it before she even stepped into the building.
The stares.The stillness.The way the other students stood a little too far from her locker, watching without watching.
Aara didn't look up. She just kept walking.
She had learned, by now, that when you pretend not to notice, people usually get bored and move on.
Not today.
When she opened her locker, five things fell out.
A condom in its wrapper.A printed screenshot of a social media post.A note:
"Try charging more next time, whore."
Laughter behind her.
Her hands moved on autopilot. Picking everything up. Stuffing it back into the locker. Trying not to let her fingers shake.
The screenshot wouldn't leave her mind.
Her name.A blurred photo from behind — unmistakably her, outside the warehouse district.A caption:
"New girl sleeping her way out of debt. Ask her rates."
The post had over 2,000 shares.
Anonymous, of course.
But she didn't need a name.
Minji.
Only someone that close would know where she worked. Where she walked. Who she avoided. What kind of rumors would break her worst.
She skipped first period.
The bathroom stall was the only place without eyes.
She sat on the closed toilet seat, blazer still on, headphones in with no music. The tile wall was cold against her back. Her ribs ached.
She could still feel the bruises from the last fight.Still taste the copper from when she bit her lip to keep from crying.
She thought of her mother.
Of her father, wherever the hell he was.
Of Ayin, posting selfies while Aara worked herself into blood and silence.
And now… this.
Her reputation, her dignity, her name — being dragged through toilets by the same girl who once swore they'd go to university together.
She pressed her hand to her chest.
It was tight. Hot.
It was too much.
It was all too much.
The stall door creaked open.
Not her stall.
The outer one.
Footsteps.
Then a knock.
"Aara."
His voice.
Haru.
"I know you're in there."
She didn't answer.
"I saw the post."
Still nothing.
"I took it down."
She scoffed, quiet and bitter.
"Congratulations. The damage is already done."
"I'll find out who posted it."
"You already know."
A pause.
Then, quietly:"Yes."
She rested her forehead against her knees.
"Go away, Haru."
"No."
"I'm serious."
"I don't care."
Another pause.
Then the click of the lock.
Her stall door opened.
She looked up.
Haru stood there, looking less like a delinquent and more like something carved from violence and purpose.
His school blazer hung loose over his shoulders. His tie was gone. Shirt wrinkled. Sleeves rolled. One chain around his neck, another hanging from his wrist.
His eyes — cold blue — looked her over like he was counting the pieces of her that still held together.
And he didn't like the number.
"I can't fix it," she whispered.
"You don't have to."
He crouched in front of her, just like he did in the locker room.
Only this time, there was no blood. Just silence.
"I should leave," she said.
"Then leave."
She looked at him, confused.
"I'm not stopping you," he said. "You can walk out of here and go home. Pretend none of this matters."
"It doesn't," she snapped. "It's just rumors."
"Then why are your hands shaking?"
She hadn't noticed.
But they were.
She buried her face in her arms. "I didn't ask for any of this."
"I know."
"I didn't want to fight. Or work nights. Or be poor. Or—"
She stopped herself. The words were slipping out too fast. Too raw.
Haru said nothing.
He just watched her unravel like she was the most beautiful tragedy he'd ever seen.
And then… he moved.
Not suddenly.
Not aggressively.
Just slow.
His hand reached forward and brushed the hair from her face. Tucked it behind her ear.
She let him.
She was too tired to resist.
"I want to kill them," he said quietly.
"I know."
"Tell me not to."
She looked at him.
His jaw was clenched. His hand was still on her cheek. His eyes were full of something that wasn't rage — not just rage. It was desperation.
"I don't want you to kill anyone, Haru."
"But I would," he said. "If you asked. If it made you feel safe. If it made the voices stop."
She closed her eyes.
Just for a moment.
Letting the quiet settle.
Letting herself believe, for one dangerous heartbeat, that maybe being protected wasn't the same as being caged.
When she opened her eyes, he was closer.
Not touching her. Not quite.
Just… waiting.
Hovering.
Their breath mingled.
Their pain echoed.
But she shook her head, just barely.
Not yet.
Haru didn't lean in. Didn't force it.
He just whispered, "Let them talk."
And stood.
As he turned to leave, he added:
"I'll clean it up. All of it. You just show up tomorrow."
"Why?"
He paused at the door.
"Because if you stop now, they win."