Amara didn't sleep.
She didn't even come close.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it—
the hallway,
the moonlight,
Kelechi's calm smile,
and the way he said "We'll finish this later."
Her heart tightened again.
She pulled her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on them, trying to breathe normally. The school had moved into a partial lockdown, teachers patrolling, students whispering, rumors flying everywhere. But the security presence did nothing to calm her.
Because Kelechi always found a way.
Always.
A soft knock came at her door.
Her breath froze.
"Amara? It's me."
Onyedika's voice—quiet but firm.
She didn't know she'd been holding her breath until her chest released painfully.
She unlocked the door slowly, peeking first… then opening it fully.
He looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept either. His eyes were sharp yet gentle—searching her face for signs of collapse.
"Can I come in?" he asked carefully.
She nodded and stepped aside.
He entered and sat on the edge of her bed, hands clasped. For a moment, he didn't speak—like he was giving her space to breathe.
She appreciated it more than he knew.
Finally, he turned to her.
"Amara… you need to tell me everything now."
Her stomach tightened.
"I'm not pushing you," he added quickly. "But I can't protect you from a threat I don't understand."
She swallowed hard.
Protection.
She wanted to believe in it—but after everything, the word felt fragile.
Still, she tried.
"It started… last term," she whispered. "Back at my old school."
Onyedika listened silently, his eyes locked on her, giving her the courage she didn't think she had.
"Kelechi wasn't always like this," she continued. "At first, he acted normal. Friendly. Too friendly. And when I kept my distance…"
She paused, her hands trembling.
"…he didn't like that."
Onyedika's jaw tightened.
She continued quietly, not giving too many details—only what she could push out without breaking.
"He followed me. Showed up near my house. Started appearing in places he shouldn't. He knew my schedule… my routes… everything."
She inhaled shakily.
"When I told a teacher, they said I was exaggerating. When I told a prefect, he said I should 'learn to handle attention.'"
Onyedika muttered under his breath, "Nonsense."
Amara nodded weakly.
"It got worse. One day he cornered me after prep. Not touching me—just blocking the way, threatening, saying things…"
Her voice cracked faintly.
Onyedika noticed and gently shifted closer.
"Amara… I'm here. Don't force anything."
Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back.
"I left the school the next week. My parents didn't know the full story. I didn't want to scare them… or make it worse."
"And he followed you here," Onyedika finished softly.
She nodded.
The room fell quiet.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.
"This guy has crossed every line possible. Amara… we need adults involved. Real ones. Not just security."
But she shook her head sharply.
"No. Last time I tried, I was made to feel like the problem. Like I was imagining things."
"You're not imagining anything," Onyedika said firmly. "I've seen him myself. I saw how you reacted. That's enough proof."
She looked away, voice thin.
"People don't take you seriously when you're scared. They think you're dramatic."
"Then they're fools," he said bluntly.
She almost smiled—even in this moment.
Almost.
A beat of silence followed.
He exhaled slowly.
"Okay. If you're not reporting him, then we need another plan."
She blinked.
"Plan?"
"Yes," he said. "You're not facing this alone anymore."
Her chest tightened again—but this time for a different reason.
He shifted closer until their shoulders almost touched.
"Whatever he thinks he can do to you… he'll have to go through me first."
Something warm and painful curled in her chest.
A feeling she tried desperately not to name.
"Onyedika…" she whispered.
"I'm serious," he said softly. "You're safe with me."
Her throat tightened.
She wished she could believe that.
But safety felt like a word from another world.
Still—having him here mattered.
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed.
He checked it, frowned, then stood abruptly.
"What's wrong?" she asked, fear rising instantly.
"I just got a message from Chiamaka," he said quietly. "She said something strange is happening outside Block C."
Amara stiffened.
"Strange how?"
Onyedika hesitated, then looked at her with a seriousness that chilled her blood.
"She said someone scratched something on the wall."
He swallowed.
"And told me to come see it myself."
Amara's body went cold.
She grabbed his wrist.
"Don't go."
"I have to check," he said. "But you're coming with me. I won't leave you alone."
Her heart raced.
Fear crept back into her chest like a rising tide—cold, suffocating.
But she followed him.
The corridors were quieter now—too quiet.
Students whispered in clusters.
Some stared at them passing.
Others avoided eye contact.
Block C was dim, the area only lit by one flickering corridor bulb.
Chiamaka was waiting.
Shaken.
Hugging herself.
"You came…" she said breathlessly. "Onyedika… Amara… you need to see it."
She pointed toward the side wall near the window.
Onyedika squinted.
Amara hesitated, her heart pounding so loud she could hear it in her ears.
Then they stepped closer.
And when Amara finally saw the writing, her breath vanished.
It wasn't big.
It wasn't messy.
It wasn't rushed.
It was carved slowly… deeply… intentionally.
Right into the wall.
Four words:
I KNOW YOUR ROOM.
Amara staggered back instantly, bumping into Onyedika.
Her knees gave out.
He caught her just before she hit the ground.
"Amara—hey—hey—look at me," he said, panic rising in his voice. "Breathe. Look at me."
But she couldn't.
Her vision blurred.
Her pulse roared.
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
Chiamaka covered her mouth in horror.
"Who wrote that? When?"
Onyedika turned, scanning the hallway, rage building like a storm.
"This guy is playing games," he muttered. "He's watching us. He's somewhere close."
But before anyone could respond—
A phone rang.
Not theirs.
A phone placed on the windowsill.
A phone that wasn't there before.
Unknown number.
Ringtone loud in the silence.
Onyedika reached for it cautiously.
The screen lit up.
A video call.
He hesitated…
It rang again.
Then—
The caller ID name flashed briefly before the phone vibrated harder.
A name Amara knew too well.
KELECHI.
Onyedika's eyes widened.
Chiamaka gasped.
Amara's entire body went cold.
And before anyone could decide whether to answer—
The call connected by itself.
The screen brightened.
A face appeared.
Half-shadowed.
Smiling.
Watching them.
And then he whispered, voice low, chilling:
"Amara… I told you we weren't done."