Bathroom Scene
Vicky stood in front of the bathroom mirror, admiring her reflection. She applied a bold coat of lipstick, emphasizing the curves of her lips. The vibrant color popped against her already striking features. She then expertly pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail, highlighting her sharp jawline and piercing eyes.
Next, she adjusted her short skirt slightly, making sure it hugged her toned legs just right. A final glance in the mirror revealed a stunning young woman, brimming with confidence and poise.
As she turned to leave, Vicky caught a glimpse of someone snapping a photo of her through the slightly cracked door. She spun around—but there was no one in sight. A chill ran down her spine. It wasn't the first time she had felt watched. The same thing had happened during her walk to school that morning.
Suddenly, the shutter clicked again.
Vicky's eyes widened just as Brian, a classmate, appeared, sprinting after the unknown photographer. He quickly returned, only to find Vicky frozen in shock—her skirt had slipped dangerously low, and her blouse had shifted, exposing more than intended.
Her eyes locked onto Brian's with a glare sharp enough to slice. It was a warning—don't look.
Brian quickly turned his back, showing respect. Then, without a word, he peeled off his varsity sweater and handed it to her, shielding her exposed waist. In doing so, his T-shirt lifted slightly, revealing his toned abs. But Vicky barely noticed.
Together, they stepped out of the bathroom, only to be met with a wave of whispers from classmates scattered in the hallway.
"Are they dating?" one girl murmured.
"Seriously? Brian? With her?" another sneered. "She thinks she's so much better than everyone else."
"What's she doing dressed like that, anyway?"
Brian's gaze flicked to the girls, his expression hardening. Without hesitation, he reached out and took Vicky's hand. Not forcefully—but firm. Protective.
They walked away together, leaving behind the snickers and stares.
"Thanks," Vicky said softly once they were alone.
Brian didn't respond. His jaw was tight, his eyes unreadable.
"Do you know who it was?" he finally asked, his brows knitting in concern.
Vicky looked away, her eyes shimmering. "I… I don't know."
"You're lying," Brian said quietly, but firmly.
Vicky's head snapped toward him. "I'm not."
"You are." His tone was calm, but certain.
She stepped back, eyes flaring. "Why do you even care? You don't know me. Just because you helped me once doesn't mean anything."
"I don't like you, Brian," she continued, voice rising. "You're annoying. And maybe you set the whole thing up. How else could you show up at just the right time? What were you doing near the girls' bathroom anyway? Got a girlfriend now?"
Brian's face darkened. "I saved you."
Vicky let out a bitter laugh. "Saved me? Yeah, right. Maybe you planned it. Pervert."
Brian's voice dropped to a growl. "You're the worst person I've ever met. Worse than my sister." He turned sharply and stormed off, leaving her behind, still wearing his sweater around her waist.
Vicky stood there, chewing on her bottom lip, her thoughts tangled.
"I don't care about him," she muttered. "So why do I feel guilty?" she whispered to herself.
She shook her head. "He's such a jerk. I'll never like him."
---
Convenience Store Scene
Later that evening, Vicky stepped into the bright, buzzing convenience store a few blocks from her apartment. The air smelled of sugar, plastic wrap, and warm hot dogs spinning on the rollers. Kids were buying soda, teens hovered near the snack shelves, and pop music played faintly from a radio near the counter.
Vicky made a beeline to the candy aisle. Her heart raced a little when she spotted it: the last three packets of her favorite imported marshmallow gummies—a rare treat she'd fallen in love with while in New York visiting family.
She reached for the white grape flavor—but before her fingers touched it, a hand swept in and snatched it away.
"What the hell?" she blurted, eyes narrowing.
The person wore all black. Hoodie. Joggers. Even their mask and glasses were black. Face hidden. Silent. Almost like a shadow.
"How can you wear that much black in this heat?" she muttered, annoyed.
The person didn't reply.
Trying to brush it off, Vicky moved to the cookie shelf. She reached for her favorite chocolate chip sandwich cookies—but again, the same person beat her to it.
She clenched her jaw, fists tightening. She was ready to speak up—but stopped herself. Instead, she grabbed a less favorite flavor and made her way toward the fridge.
She spotted her favorite soda—cranberry cream. But it was way up on the top shelf. Stretching on her toes, she tried to grab it—just as someone's hand darted in and took it.
Furious now, Vicky grabbed the stranger's hoodie and yanked it back.
Her breath caught in her throat.
As the hood slipped down, her eyes locked with the face underneath—and time seemed to freeze.
"You," she whispered, heart pounding.