Bachira

The perfect moment Bachira had been waiting for finally arrived, a rainy autumn afternoon. He knew Samylly usually stayed in the school library waiting for the storm to pass, since her parents were always late on those days. It was the ideal opportunity: the building was practically empty. With his heart pounding violently against his chest, Bachira approached the table where she was reading distractedly. His hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from an almost feverish anticipation. He was holding a small black velvet box. — Samylly? — his voice echoed low, breaking the silence of the place. She looked up, surprised. It took her a second to recognize the quiet boy at the back of the room. — Oh, hi... Bachira, right? How are you? Without saying a word, he pulled out the chair in front of her and sat down, fixing his eyes on hers with an intensity that made her recoil millimeters in her chair. Bachira placed the box on the table and gently pushed it toward the girl. "What is that?" she asked, laughing nervously. "This proves how well I know you. How much I love you," he whispered, with a calm, almost angelic smile. "You can open it. It's yours." Curious, but already feeling a strange chill down her spine from his tone, Samylly opened the lid. Her smile vanished instantly. Her face lost its color. Inside the box, perfectly organized, were: Several photos of her — some walking down the street, others in profile in her living room, and one taken from under her window at night. A small red ribbon tied together the three strands of hair he had picked up from his biology chair. The crumpled note that she had thrown in the trash last week. — Bachira... what... what is this? Where did you get these photos? Samylly's voice faltered, panic rising in her throat as she stared at the image of herself in her bedroom window. Bachira leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her eyes gleaming with devotion.