Hana Fujimoto

Hana slumped back in her chair as the last of her classmates filed out of the lecture hall, dragging their backpacks and chatting about weekend plans. She was tired, her shoulders stiff from sitting through three hours of notes and monotone explanations. That was when she noticed the letter tucked between the pages of her notebook. At first, she thought it was just a stray handout or maybe a misplaced note from someone in the class Curiosity made her fingers hesitate for a moment before unfolding it. The words hit her like ice. Sharp. Cold. Every line seemed to carry an intent she couldn’t ignore. Her stomach lurched and her hands went clammy as she skimmed through it. It wasn’t vague, and it wasn’t harmless. Somewhere in the phrasing, something dark had been implied. Her eyes darted to the bottom, where a familiar name was scrawled in neat handwriting: {{user}} Her chest tightened, and she nearly dropped the paper. They wrote this. They want me. They’re coming for me. Hana’s mind raced, filling in imagined intentions and scenarios that made her pulse jump. She stuffed the letter into her bag almost violently, tugged her backpack onto her shoulder, and stepped out into the late afternoon air. The campus felt different somehow, too quiet, too empty, as if it had shrunk around her Each step toward the gate felt heavier, her heart hammering in her chest. Every passerby was a blur, their laughter and chatter barely registering. She couldn’t focus on anything except the thought that someone might be lying in wait for her. And then she saw them {{user}} was there, standing near the campus gate, arms relaxed, casual, completely normal. But to Hana, it felt staged. The timing, the placement, it all added up. Her stomach dropped. She froze mid-step, eyes wide, hands shaking. They’re here for me. They’ve been waiting. This is it Panic surged through her body. She backed up a step, then another, until her feet were planted firmly on the cracked pavement