The campus woke up hungry.
My name was on every screen before I even arrived. Notifications stacked over each other—messages, mentions, forwarded screenshots. Some were curious. Some were cruel. All of them were watching.
The statement had done exactly what I intended.
It had shifted the center.
But centers attract pressure.
I walked through the gates with my head level, my steps measured. People stared openly now. No whispers. No pretending. The silence had sharpened into scrutiny.
"She spoke."
"That means something."
"Why now?"
"Why protect him?"
Protect.
That word followed me like a shadow.
Rayan was waiting near the science block.
I hadn't told him to meet me.
He came anyway.
"You shouldn't be here," I said quietly as I reached him.
"I needed to see you," he replied.
Up close, the damage was clearer. Dark circles. Tension wound tight under his skin. His gaze moved constantly—counting eyes, measuring distance.
"They're tearing you apart," he said.
"They were going to," I replied. "Now they just have permission."
"You didn't have to do this," he said again.
"I chose to."
That distinction mattered.
"You're bleeding for my mistakes," he said.
I looked at him steadily. "No. I'm bleeding for my silence."
He swallowed.
Something in his expression shifted—not relief.
Ownership.
The first confrontation came before noon.
A classmate blocked my path outside the lecture hall.
"So what exactly are you to him?" she asked, voice sharp with curiosity disguised as concern.
"That's none of your business," I replied.
Her smile thinned. "When you make a statement, it becomes everyone's."
I stepped around her.
But the line stayed with me.
Everywhere I went, people tried to place me.
Victim.
Accomplice.
Girlfriend.
Manipulator.
None of them fit neatly.
Which made me dangerous.
By afternoon, the institution reacted.
I was called in again—this time alone.
The dean's voice was calm, but the air felt heavier than before.
"You've complicated matters," she said.
"That was unavoidable," I replied.
She studied me carefully. "You're aware this makes you vulnerable."
"Yes."
"And yet you proceeded."
"Yes."
A pause.
"Why?" she asked.
I didn't answer immediately.
Because the truth wasn't strategic.
"I don't like being cornered," I said finally.
She nodded slowly. "Neither do we."
When I left, the warning followed me out.
Not spoken.
Implied.
Rayan didn't leave my side after that.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Every time I looked up, he was watching me—alert, tense, like the world had turned hostile overnight.
"This isn't healthy," I told him once, as we walked.
"I know," he replied. "But it's necessary."
"That's not the same thing."
"I don't care," he said.
The bluntness startled me.
"You stepped into fire for me," he continued. "I won't let it burn you alone."
"That's not protection," I said. "That's possession."
He didn't deny it.
That scared me more than if he had.
The threat escalated by evening.
An anonymous post surfaced.
Not lies.
Selective truth.
Edited screenshots. Cropped timelines. Leading captions.
Enough to suggest intimacy.
Enough to imply influence.
Enough to question consent.
My phone buzzed endlessly.
Rayan found me in the courtyard, fists clenched.
"They're targeting you now," he said.
"I expected that."
"This is my fault," he snapped. "I'll end it. I'll go public. I'll say everything."
"No," I said sharply.
He froze.
"You speak now," I continued, "and you confirm every worst assumption they want."
"I won't let them destroy you," he said.
"I won't let you decide that," I replied.
The words hit harder than intended.
Something dark flickered in his eyes.
"They already are," he said quietly. "And I can't stand it."
That was the moment I realized—
My control had created a new imbalance.
And Rayan was tipping toward something reckless.
Night fell with no relief.
I returned home to find a message waiting.
Unknown number.
You chose visibility. Now live with it.
Attached was another screenshot.
This one hadn't circulated yet.
But it would.
Soon.
My chest tightened—not with panic.
With calculation.
I forwarded it to Rayan before I could reconsider.
Seconds later, he called.
"Who sent this?" he demanded.
"I don't know."
"They're threatening you."
"Yes."
"I'll handle it," he said.
The certainty in his voice chilled me.
"How?" I asked.
Silence.
Then—"I'll make them stop."
That wasn't reassurance.
That was escalation.
"You can't fix this with force," I said.
"I'm done being passive," he replied.
The line went dead.
I stood there, phone still in my hand, heart beating too evenly.
Because I understood something terrifyingly clear now.
I had stepped into the story to control it.
But stories don't like being controlled.
They push back.
And Rayan—
Rayan was no longer reacting.
He was choosing.
The next morning, the campus would wake up again.
But this time—
I wasn't sure what version of him would arrive.
Or whether the story would let either of us go unharmed.