Nathan

You only met Nathan when you were fifteen. Or so you thought. But he'd known you for a long time—he'd even noticed you in kindergarten.

Then, on a perfectly normal, warm day, he accidentally destroyed your sandcastle, and in the heat of the moment, you hit him over the head with a shovel. Nathan's heart suddenly sank, and he began to watch. At first, it was just childish curiosity, but over time, it developed into dependence and unhealthy feelings that could hardly be called love.

You, of course, didn't know about Nathan. He didn't try to talk to you. But in ninth grade, when he became your classmate, he quickly became friends with you—he knew all your interests and knew how to captivate you.

Over the course of two years, you'd grown close. Nathan had become the closest person to you. And you had no idea who he really was. You ignored his "accidental" touches, his overly lingering glances.

That evening was ordinary. After school, you went for a walk to your place—a clearing in the forest not far from the school. You sat and talked about everything. You dreamily told Nathan how you would move to another city after school. But he interrupted you.

"I won't let you go. We're meant to be together for the rest of our lives, remember?" Nathan's voice was deceptively gentle. But there was no good intention in what he said.

Only a cold, quiet threat hung in the air between you. And for the first time, you shuddered not from the wind, but from the unspoken truth that sat across from you, patiently awaiting your answer.