"He's staring again," I whispered, without looking up from the page.
The words slipped from my lips like a secret I wasn't supposed to know, low enough that only Fallon, my best friend and certified trouble magnet could hear.
She didn't disappoint.
"Who?" She leaned in, eyes already glittering with mischief. "Marek?" Her voice practically sang his name like she knew the effect it would have on me.
I flipped the pages of my book, even though I hadn't read the last paragraph. "Shut up!"
Fallon ignored that. "He's literally burning holes into your back, babe. I swear, if that boy stares any harder, your spine's gonna melt."
"Maybe he's just spacing out."
"Right. And maybe I'm a virgin."
That made me snort, and I hated that it did, because Fallon was right. Again.
Marek Elias Vukovic had a way of staring like he could peel you apart with just his eyes.
And no, not in the cute, oh-he-likes-you kinda way.
It was deeper. Stranger. Like he was searching for something only he understood and you were the map he was trying to read.
And somehow, I had become the map.
The bell rang before I could argue with myself any further, dragging me out of my thoughts.
Chairs screeched.
People groaned.
It was the end of chemistry class, finally.
I stood, shoved my notebook into my tote, and made the silent vow I made every time I left a room he was in.
Don't look at him. Don't turn around. Don't.
I turned around.
He was still seated.
Still staring.
Still unmoving.
Marek.
Tall, handsome, dressed in black from head to toe like he was in mourning every damn day.
His hair was dark, always slightly damp-looking like he'd just stepped out of a storm.
And those eyes, icy blue and unblinking followed me like he owned me in his past life.
Fallon looped her arm around mine like a shield. "Let's go before your knees give out."
They might've. I'd admit it.
We moved fast, out into the hallways.
I focused on the chatter, the clang of lockers, the scent of fries and cheap perfume.
"Why won't you just talk to him?" Fallon pressed, as we move through the crowd.
"Because he gives me serial killer vibes."
"From your description, He gives me hot-in-a-dark-forest vibes"
"Same thing."
But the truth : I had tried once. To talk to him. To get closer. I'd asked a dumb question after literature class just to hear him speak.
He hadn't answered.
He'd just looked at me.
Right through me.
And smiled.
A smile that didn't touch his eyes…. Then I knew he wasn't real.
He was maybe just my imagination.
****
Later that night, I was in my room, lights off, scrolling aimlessly through my phone with the blankets wrapped around my legs.
I should've been asleep.
I had homework. A quiz. A life.
Instead my brain kept circling back to him.
To Marek.
To the feeling that he wasn't just some quiet, strange boy with stalker eyes.
There was something wrong about him.
Or maybe with me, for thinking a book character I wrote was real.
The knock came soft. Once. Twice.
I froze.
It was past midnight.
I wasn't expecting anyone.
No one ever visited me this late, especially not through the back door of my house.
Another knock.
I crept to the window, fingers trembling just slightly as I parted the curtain.
My blood ran cold.
There, in the dark, barely visible under broken porch light…
Stood Marek.
His hands in his pockets.
His head tilted.
And his eyes….. They weren't blue anymore.
The glowed.
A silvery white.
Unblinking.
Alive.
And then he smiled.
"You left the window open." My blood froze.
The voice came from behind me, inside the room.
I didn't turn. I couldn't.
My body went still, every inch of me locked in one place like I had been caught in a spell.
The wind outside howled.
Brushing the curtains like fingers.
"I should've locked it," I whispered, barely audible.
A pause.
Then; "You didn't"
I turned slowly, pulse thumbing against my ribs.
Marek stood there.
Not at the door. Not by the window. But right beside my mirror, where his reflection should have been but wasn't.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The second thing was his expression.
Empty. Beautiful. Dangerous.
"You broke in," I said, voice cracking.
"No," he replied smoothly. "You invited me the moment you thought of me."
Chills ran down my spine.
"I didn't….."
"You did. You thought about me. You wanted to see me again. I heard it."
"That's not how things work."
His lips curved slightly. "That's how I work"
I stepped back.
He didn't follow.
Marek's eyes scanned the room like he already knew every corner, every drawer, every secret.
"Your room smells like vanilla. It suits you."
"You shouldn't be here."
"And yet, here I am." His voice was calm, but it crawled under my skin, low, dark, intimate.
"What do you want?" I asked, swallowing the fear that crawled up my throat.
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he moved one slow step towards me.
Then another.
Not threatening.
Purposeful.
"I wanted to see what you look like when no one's watching."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You carry yourself like a storm but you sleep like a girl who is afraid of the dark."
My heart skipped. "I'm not afraid of anything."
"Lie better."
Silence stretched.
He stopped just short of touching me.
The space between us buzzed.
"Marek…how did you even get in?"
"You opened the window."
"That doesn't explain….."
"You opened the window," he said again, firmer this time. "That's all I need."
I stared at him, my thoughts racing for logic, reason and sanity.
And then something caught my eye, in his hand.
Something small. A chain. My chain. My necklace.
The one I had lost a week ago.
I hadn't told anyone.
I hadn't even realized it was missing until now.
My voice cracked. "Where did you get that?"
"I've had it."
"How…."
"You dropped it the night I first followed you home."
Every cell in my body screamed run, but my feet didn't move.
"You followed me?" I whispered.
He looked at the necklace, letting it dangle like bait. "You intrigue me."
"You're insane."
"No," He said softly now. "I'm attentive."
My throat was dry. "Give it back."
"I will, when it's time."
My jaw clenched. "Leave, Marek"
He leaned closer, not touching me, but stealing all the air in the room. "I'll leave….when you close the window yourself."
And just like that, he stepped back, into the shadow beside the mirror and vanished.
Not out the window, not through the door.
Vanished.
****
I didn't sleep that night.
I locked the window.
Doublechecked the door.
But something told me none of it would matter.
The next morning, I found something tucked in my backpack.
Not a note.
Not flowers.
It was a Polaroid of me sleeping on my bed.
Window wide open and scribbled at the bottom, in bold ink was: "You breathe heavy when you dream. I like that."