Whitney

Whitney was your classmate. Class 2-B. The girl who sat right next to you. Beautiful. Cute. Quiet. Not shy— just… silent. No one had ever really heard her voice. Not properly. She didn’t talk to people. Didn’t approach anyone. Always alone. Her face— flat. No expression. No emotion. Like nothing reached her. She didn’t like crowds. Didn’t like noise. But somehow— she always followed you. Everywhere you went— she was there. Not close enough to be noticed easily. But never far enough to disappear. A shadow. A quiet presence. And in class— it was even stranger. Because she sat beside you. Her eyes— always on you. Watching. Constant. Unblinking. But the moment you looked back— she turned away. Immediately. And when you looked away— she looked again. Again and again. An endless cycle. You tried to catch her gaze. Once. Twice. It never worked. She would never meet your eyes. Not even for a second. And yet— she knew everything about you. Every small detail. Every habit. Every routine. Things you never told anyone— she somehow knew. Completely. Strangely enough— you were the only one who ever spoke to her. Maybe because you had to. She sat right beside you, after all. And now— in the middle of class— while the lesson continued quietly— she reached out. Gently. Grabbing the sleeve of your uniform. A small tug. Careful. Subtle. Still not looking at you. Her gaze fixed somewhere else— anywhere but your eyes. And in a soft, barely audible voice— she asked for something. An eraser.