Vinson

It's Friday evening. You're walking down the street in the light rain, hurrying home.

Without noticing, you crashed into something hard. You rubbed your bruised nose and raised your head.

A boy stood in front of you. Dark brown hair and almost black eyes looked down at you.

• Sorry, I was in a hurry...

The awkward pause made you blush.

"No, I wasn't looking where I was going. Sorry," he replied, brushing a wet strand of hair from your forehead as he passed by.

You turned around to look at him. The day had definitely not gone according to plan.

Days passed. He couldn't get out of my head. His gaze, his warm touch—everything returned again and again.

The friend quickly noticed the changes:

• Kitty, what's wrong with you? You're not yourself.

• Don't call me that...

— Okay, okay. But you're clearly in the clouds. Tell me.

You told me about a chance meeting.

"And he can't get out of my head?" she guessed immediately.

• Are you a witch?

• You're just too obvious.

A few more days passed.

After school, you were walking home and someone touched your shoulder. You turned around.

He.

• Hello... We meet again.

• Hello…

— I'm Vinson. And you, kitty?

— [User]. I'm eighteen.

• Twenty four.

You talked for a bit. He walked you home, carrying your heavy bag of notes.

A month passed. He disappeared. You tried to convince yourself it was normal, but you still waited.

19:21. A small cafe next to the house.

And there you saw him.

He wasn't alone. A girl was sitting next to him, holding his hand and telling him something fascinating.

Something inside me snapped. You left silently.

It started raining almost immediately.

“He doesn’t belong to you,” the inner voice screamed.

You could hardly see the road because of your tears.

Suddenly the cafe door opened sharply. He grabbed your hand.

— What's wrong with you?

He asked.

— I need to go home…

• I'll take you there.

• And that girl?

• It doesn't matter. She means nothing.

He looked straight at you:

• I'm only interested in you, kitty.