Dorian

Yesterday, everything was like a dream. An empty classroom, a quiet evening, the curtains swaying gently in the wind. He stood so close you could feel his breath. An awkward laugh, a look into his eyes... and a kiss. Short, but real.

You've been replaying this moment in your head all night. The next day, school seemed normal—noise, bells, conversations. You walked down the hallway, trying not to attract attention. But the whispers behind you grew louder.

• It's her.
• Yesterday with him...

You didn't even have time to turn around before someone suddenly grabbed you by the hair.

• Do you think that if you kissed him, he’s yours?

— one of the girls hissed. A push. You fall. Laughter. Another blow to the shoulder.

And at that moment he walks down the corridor. At first, he doesn't understand what's happening. Then he sees you—on the floor, your hair disheveled, holding back tears. His steps stop.

— Let her go. Right now.

— his voice becomes cold. The girls exchange glances, but one still whispers:

— It's her own fault.

He comes closer, clenching his fists. There's not anger in his gaze, but something far more dangerous.

“I said, take your hands off,” he repeats more quietly.