can still smell the rain that night. It wasn't heavy — just the kind that falls quietly, like it's mourning something no one understands. The corridors of the school were empty, lights flickering, desks overturned. Somewhere in the dark, I could hear the echo of footsteps — not mine.
"Zeal!" I shouted, my voice trembling as I held the phone she'd slipped into my hands. The recording was still playing — Michael's voice, calm, confident, and horrifying.
"Love is easy," he had said in the video. "They just never love me back… until they can't anymore."
Blood covered the staffroom floor. I knew I shouldn't look, but I did. The sight of our colleagues — the same people who laughed with us at lunch — lying lifeless, made my knees weak. My breath came in short gasps. I wanted to run, but my heart wouldn't let me — not without Zeal.
She was the one who saved me. She was the one who gave me the phone, her hand shaking, eyes wide with fear but still glowing with something fierce — love, maybe. Or courage. Or both.
"Take this," she whispered. "Run, Mercy. Don't look back."
And I didn't.
Not until the gunshot echoed through the hall.
That was the moment my world shattered.
⸻
Flashback 1 — Back in Secondary School
Zeal and I weren't always teachers. Once, we were just two girls in the same school uniform.
She was the quiet one, always sitting at the back, always dressed like she didn't care what anyone thought — loose shirt, short hair, confidence sharp as a blade. I remember watching her during break time, pretending to read my book while my heart drummed like a secret I was too shy to tell.
I liked her. Maybe I loved her. But I never said a word.
She graduated a year before me, and I thought I'd never see her again. Until life decided to play its cruelest trick — bringing her back to me years later, when I'd already forgotten how to dream.
⸻
Flashback 2 — The School Where It All Began Again
It was my first day as a teacher — a new job, a new chance. The students were loud, curious, and warm. The other teachers welcomed me like family. But among them, one face made me freeze.
Zeal.
Same sharp gaze, same androgynous style — she still dressed like a man, shirt tucked, sleeves rolled, her hair slightly messy in that perfect way. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming.
She smiled first.
"Mercy, right? You schooled here before?"
Her voice was calm, low — I could still hear it in my head.
We started working together, staying late after class, marking papers, talking about our lives. One evening, she touched my hair and said softly,
"You know, I liked you back then too."
And before I could breathe, she kissed me.
It wasn't fireworks. It was something deeper — like the world had stopped spinning, just for us. From that moment, everything felt right again. We were careful, secretive, but happy.
Until Michael joined the staff.
⸻
He was polite, always smiling — the kind of man people trusted too easily. But there was something in his eyes I never liked. Something too calm. Too empty.
He confessed to me one afternoon, saying,
"I like you, Mercy." You should stay away from Zeal. She's not good for you."
I laughed it off. I told him I was already with someone — though I didn't say her name. He smiled, but it wasn't the kind of smile you return.
Later, I found out what he really was.
A psychopath. A man who made women fall for him just to kill them. He recorded every single murder — as trophies.
And I had refused him.
⸻
The night of the killings, Zeal and I were grading papers when we heard screams. We ran out, saw blood on the walls, and Michael standing there — a knife in one hand, a camera in the other.
"You should've chosen me, Mercy," he said. "Now you'll see what happens when you don't."
Zeal pushed me behind her. She fought him — my brave, stubborn Zeal. She managed to snatch his phone, recording everything, before shoving it into my hand and shouting for me to run.
I ran.
And I lived.
But I never saw her again.
⸻
Days Later — The Aftermath
The police found me, trembling, clutching the phone. They said Zeal's body was never recovered. Michael was detained for lack of evidence, only to be released days later. I went into hiding, staying with my best friend — who almost let him in again, thinking he was harmless.
He came to the door once, smiling.
"Easy money, Making," he said softly, pretending not to know me.
That night, I ran again — straight to my brother's house in another city.
Weeks passed. Then came the call — the families of my coworkers wanted me to testify. They'd unlocked the phone. The videos were enough to bring the case to court.
I was terrified, but I went.
When I stood in front of the judge, my voice trembled but my words didn't. I told them everything — how he killed them, how Zeal saved me. The court went silent.
Then they called the second witness.
The door opened. I turned — and my heart stopped.
It was Zeal.
Bandages covered her arm, her face pale, but her eyes — those same fierce eyes — still burned. She had survived.
Michael was sentenced to life in prison. Justice was served. But peace?
That didn't come so easily.
⸻
After the Trial
Zeal lost her memory after the trauma. When I went to see her, she looked at me like I was a stranger. Still, I stayed. I became her friend again. She showed me pictures of guys, asking if they were handsome. I smiled and said "yes," even when my heart was breaking.
Then one day, she told me she was going on a date.
Something inside me cracked. I walked away, tears burning my cheeks. I thought I'd lost her all over again.
But she followed me.
I turned around, and before I could speak, she hugged me — tight.
"If you're going to cry every time I mention someone else," she said, "then maybe you should just tell me why."
So I did.
I told her everything — how I loved her since school, how I never stopped, how she saved me. I told her how her name, Zeal, meant passion — and that's what she was to me.
She didn't speak. She just kissed me, softly at first, then fiercely, like she'd remembered everything in a single heartbeat.
That night, I realized that love isn't about memory. It's about the feeling that never dies — even when everything else does.
⸻
To be continued…