I headed toward our real apartment, phone pieces still in my pants pocket and the stupid nickname echoing in my head like the lyrics to a catchy song.

Our apartment was on the ground floor of a faded orange block building that had definitely seen better days and was very contrasting to the mostly gray buildings in the area. The entrance of the building was above a couple of steps, where the door had to be unlocked with a general key. Once inside I was greeted by the automated lights that jumped on. The small area when entering had access to all resident's mailboxes on the left hand side. I stepped over the patch of carpet and headed to the first door on the right.

The moment I unlocked the door and stepped inside, a waft of delicious food hit me like a warm hug. We didn't usually have freshly cooked hot meals during the week-Mom worked too much, money was tight, and afternoons were often grab-what-you-can affairs or ready meals. She must've made an exception because today was, technically, my first day at the new school. Either that, or she was trying to cheer us all up.

I barely had time to close the door when the floor shook with the sound of thundering little feet. Kim came flying down the tight hallway like a fluffy rocket, her brown curls bouncing wildly with every step.

"Miri!" she squeaked as she hurled herself at me.

I caught her easily, crouching down to wrap her in a tight hug. Her little arms squeezed around my neck with surprising strength. "You're finally hoooome!"

Sweet little mouse.

She smelled like crayon wax and syrup. Probably got into the fridge again after nap time. I grinned and gave her a kiss on the cheek before we pulled apart. She immediately grabbed my hand like it was her job and tugged me down the hallway.

"We've been waiting forever! Come on! Come see!"

I kicked off my shoes, tossed my jacket onto one of the few hooks by the door and left my schoolbag in the hallway, while letting her drag me toward the kitchen. It was right through the first door frame on the left of the hallway, and the closer we got, the stronger the smell of tomato sauce and garlic.

"Mooom! Miri's back!" Kim announced proudly, as if I had just returned from war.

Our mom was at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, stirring with a look of deep focus.
"Sergeant Mirona Sawyer, reporting back from duty!", I said in a funny low voice, saluting towards my mom. She turned and gave us both a tired but content smile. There was always something in her expression that felt a little too worn for her age-like life had stretched her thin and kept pulling. But when she saw us together, some of the strain softened.

"Look what Mom made!" Kim declared, pointing dramatically at the pot like it was treasure. "Spaghetti Bolognese!"

I blinked. For real? It was literally one of my favourite dishes ever, accompanied with a little heartache.

"Wow. Fancy," I said, wiggling my eyebrows.

Mom chuckled softly, brushing a loose lock of hair out of her face with her wrist. "Well, it's a special day, right?"

Translation: I know today was hard, and I'm trying.

"Thanks, Mom. It smells amazing." I squeezed my mom quickly and also gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Kimmy, sweety, could you go and grab the plates and set up for dinner, please?", she asked my sister and then looked at me, "Go and make yourself comfortable, honey. Food's just finished."

Definitely didn't have to be told twice. I just realised I was actually starving.

While I tugged on one of the four chairs on the round table that was situated in the middle of the kitchen, Kim swiped passed me to place one of three plates in front of me on the table cloth. I sat down and the other two plates followed. One next to me and one across. Then three forks. My little sister was so accurate and neat setting up the table. She somehow had nothing of my own clumsiness.
It wasn't much, but it did feel like home.

Mom and Kim joined me on the table while my mother distributed everyone's portion. For a moment, it was just clinking forks and the warm silence of a family used to making the best of it.

"So," Mom asked after a few bites, "how was your first day?"

I shrugged, swallowing a mouthful of noodles. "Honestly? Not awful. Even the boys were semi-tolerable."

I saw the flicker of relief in her eyes before she masked it. She tried not to push, but she was always watching-always weighing how much she should ask.

"And... did anyone give you trouble?" she asked gently.

"Nope," I lied. I wasn't ready to explain the whole Possibly-Stalked-By-The-School-Idol thing. Not without sounding like I'd lost it.

"Are there any girls?" Kim piped up, holding her fork like a microphone.

"Sure, but not many. There's one in my class, though. Her name's Lea. She's sweet. We already made friends."

Mom smiled at that, and it was real this time. "I'm glad. I was a little worried, to be honest. I'm sorry I wasn't able to find a better school for you, sweetheart."

The apology hit me like a bruise I'd forgotten about. She didn't need to say it, but she always did.

"Mom, stop. Seriously. It's not your fault. I'm handling it. You don't need to worry so much. I'm Super-Miri, remember?" With a wink at my sister, I smiled brightly at my mom. It was a little nickname we both came up with.

She gave me a grateful look, and I could tell she needed to hear that just as much as I needed to say it.

We finished the meal without rushing. It wasn't anything over the top, but it tasted like comfort. Afterward, I helped her clear the table and do the dishes while Kim doodled on a napkin with a dried-up marker.

As we scrubbed side by side, I filled her in on the rest-teachers I'd met, how we didn't get any homework (score), and that I had to choose two electives. She offered advice like she always did: calmly, practically, like someone who never got to make those kinds of choices herself.

"Oh! Also," I suddenly remembered, "my phone's officially dead."

She paused mid-rinse. "What happened?"

"I was scrolling through my playlist, tripped over absolutely nothing like a graceful idiot-you know: me and my two left feet-and then stepped on it to give it the final blow. It's... basically modern art now."

"Oh no..." Her shoulders slumped a little.

"Don't worry," I said quickly. "I'll get a part-time job or something. Eventually I'll buy a new one. It's fine. Promise."

She opened her mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to offer something we didn't have, then closed it again. I could see it-how much she hated not being able to fix things. But she didn't say anything. She just nodded.

And in that silence, I realized something: we were all doing the best we could. Holding each other up in our own ways.

Once everything was done, I went out into the corridor and grabbed my bag, then headed to my room. It was just at the end of the hallway to the right, across the living room and next to the bathroom.
My room wasn't very big, but at least it was mine. My narrow bed hugged the right corner, a rickety desk sat under the window on the left, and my tiny wardrobe with the chipped mirror leaned against the wall by the door. My clothes barely filled half of it, but I didn't need much. I'd given the larger bedroom to Kim-she played more, had more toys, and honestly, she needed the space more than I did.

I dug through my bag for the list of electives and closed my door. When I found it, I dropped my bag and threw myself onto the bed. My eyes flew over the paper while I studied the text in detail. Wow-there really was a huge selection. Quite the surprise a school like that can accommodate so many different subjects. It would be hard to narrow it down to just two, but it also got me pretty excited. Among the options were fencing, painting, astrology, and cooking. They offered an entire buffet of classes I'd never even imagined.

I had no idea what to choose. With my back leaned against the wall, I rested my chin in one palm and put on my thinking cap.

There was a Judo class, which briefly tempted me-but I already knew Karate, a Japanese martial art my father had taught me over the years, which I still practiced on my own. So I scratched that idea.

It made sense to pick something new. Something useful. Something I was actually interested in.
Cooking... now that was a possibility. I was terrible at it-which made it both a challenge and a survival skill. Plus, there would probably be more girls in that class, and maybe I could even surprise Mom with a homemade meal someday. I put a checkmark next to Cooking Class.

The rest-school newspaper (the one Lea was part of), painting, media design, gardening, and astrology-just didn't appeal to me. That left Fencing, Athletics, and Parkour. All sounded fun. All involved movement. And all made the decision a nightmare.

I ran a hand through my hair and stared at the paper, willing it to make the choice for me. In the end, I chose Parkour. I already had some experience with rolling and falling techniques from Karate, and the obstacle course idea sounded exciting.

When I finally looked at the clock, I realized it was way past bedtime. Seriously? Had it really taken me that long to decide? My eyelids confirmed what the clock was telling me-I was exhausted. I shuffled into the living room, just across my bedroom, and wished Mom and Kim goodnight. My sister was curled up like a little kitten next to my mother on the sofa, resting her head on her lap. It was her usual bedtime routine. Seeing this peaceful picture, my heart warmed.
Knowing the two of them were doing fine, I went back into my room and changed into pyjamas, before brushing my teeth. All ready for sleep, I almost collapsed into my bed.

The day had been so packed, I fell asleep instantly.

-

I dreamed of men-countless men-standing in a vast, black, endless void. They weren't moving, just... waiting. I was above them somehow, floating, observing from a distance I couldn't measure. Their faces blurred into one another, vague and faceless like shadows sketched in charcoal. But among them, one stood in perfect clarity.

Of course it was him.

Sir Smirks-a-Lot. Mr. Definitely-Not-a-Stalker-Except-Yes-You-Are.

He stood at the front of the crowd, like some dramatic lead actor in an overproduced stage play, bathed in non-existent spotlight. Unlike the others, he was sharp and vivid, every detail annoyingly clear-his ridiculous hair, that unreadable face, and those stupid glowy glacier-eyes staring directly at me.

He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there in perfect stillness like he knew I was watching.

And worst of all? He wasn't even being smug about it. No sly smirk, no raised eyebrow. Just that warm, steady gaze-like I was something fragile and interesting and... worth seeing. Like I was something he'd been waiting for. It made my chest feel weirdly tight, like I was bracing for something I didn't understand.

Still, I couldn't look away.

A thought hit me out of nowhere, slipping out of my mouth before I could stop it-quiet, certain, like a truth I already knew but had forgotten how to say:

Sometimes the eyes are the only place the truth can't hide.

It wasn't a romantic dream. There was no touching, no whispering, no swirling emotions. Just him, standing there, still and sure, like he knew something I didn't. Like he was waiting for me to figure it out.

The other men-if they even counted as people-faded into nothing. He was the only one that stayed.

And yet... I was supposed to hate men. I did hate them. I didn't trust them, didn't want to trust them. But there he was, standing in the silence of my mind like some ridiculous stalker-ghost, making my chest ache for no damn reason.

The whole thing felt weird. Had I really become that paranoid?

Raven was probably right giving me this idiotic nickname.

I woke up with a scowl on my face and my blanket tangled around me like I'd tried to strangle it in my sleep. My heart was beating faster than it had any right to, and for half a second, I actually missed being in that void.

But then my brain kicked in and connected the final dot. What bothered me, thinking back at our conversation.

There was no training ground nearby. No sports fields. No gym. No dojo. It was one of the first things I checked when we moved. I would've noticed something like that. Which meant that Prince Charming of the Alleyways had been full of it. He must've lied. About where he trained. About what he was doing.

Which only confirmed what I already knew deep down:

Raven Payne was definitely a stalker.

A very persistent, absurdly fit, dream-haunting stalker with infuriatingly warm eyes.

And I had a feeling that this was only the beginning. Fantastic.