My professor, my stalker

I can’t prove that he’s watching me.But I can feel it.The sensation crawls along the back of my neck like a whisper I can’t quite hear, like a pair of eyes lingering just a second too long.The dark stranger in the corner of the diner has become a strangely permanent figure in my life. At first, he was just another late-night customer—one of the quiet ones who slips in unnoticed and disappears just as easily.But he never disappears.Every shift I work, he’s there.Same corner booth. Same posture. Same dark hood shadowing his face. A thick book rests in his hands, its pages always open, always turned with slow patience. The dim yellow light above the booth catches the edge of the paper but never quite reaches his face.He blends into the darkness of the diner like he belongs there.Like he’s part of the furniture.In the past few weeks, he has spoken exactly three words to me.“Irish coffee, please.”That’s it.I don’t even know why I ask him what he wants anymore.Every shift, it’s

Someone is watching me.Again.I sigh quietly at my own paranoia.This is what happens when you watch too many horror TikToks before bed. Suddenly every creaking floorboard becomes a ghost and every shadow turns into a lurking spirit waiting to drag you into the darkness.Still…The feeling won’t go away.I glance toward the closed bathroom door. Behind it stretches the narrow hallway that leads to my bedroom. The light there has been broken for months. No matter who my sister calls to fix it, the stupid thing refuses to work.Which means that every time I walk through that corridor at night, I have to do it in complete darkness unless I bring my phone, which I often forget.It’s the perfect setting for a horror movie.I’m convinced there’s a ghost living in that hallway. Some angry little spirit that watches me whenever I pass by. I can almost feel it glaring at me now.Behind me, the bathroom window stands open to let the steam escape. Cool night air drifts inside, brushing over my

Tessa sighs, like this whole drama is the worst inconvenience in the world. “Fine. Dead. Buried. He doesn’t exist. He probably has a small dick anyway.”Delilah narrows her eyes at us, her gaze landing squarely on Sam. “That includes you.”Sam raises his hands in surrender. “The man is dead to me,” he says solemnly, though the corner of his mouth twitches.Delilah finally exhales, visibly relaxing.“I can still look, though,” Sam adds mischievously, wiggling his eyebrows. His giggle soon escalates into full-blown laughter as Delilah lunges at him with a warning smack.We stroll past the criminology classroom, its door slightly ajar. Inside, Nick and Mr. Gorgeous are still talking. Mr. Gorgeous just opened his laptop on the desk, tilting it slightly toward the sunlight streaming through the blinds, away from Nick.Nick glances over his shoulder at us, probably aware of all the eyes on him. His gaze lands on me first, just for a moment, before snapping to Delilah with a sharp death star

He clicks on a button of his laptop and the grading rubric appears on the board.“You’ll start with the case summary,” Mr. Madden says. “The victims, the location and time frames of the murders, key characteristics of the offender’s behavior, and the known details about the social and economic environment of Whitechapel in 1888.”Another quiet click echoes through the classroom.Nobody speaks. The room is unnervingly silent, filled only with the soft hum of the digital board and the deep, controlled voice of Mr. Gorgeous' voice.I mean Mr. Madden, of course. “This section should be objective and fact-based. Give me all the information I need to understand the case in five hundred words or less.” His voice sharpens slightly. “Know how to summarize. Know what information is important. Know the difference between facts and opinions. Give me the key details.”My mind is already racing.Ideas form almost instantly. Timelines. Locations. Victim profiles. I’m already mentally structuring th