Dares are not your scene. Yet tonight, you are cornered into one. Your best friend, her phone camera ready, asks you to tell Xavion, the infuriatingly calm, too handsome for his own good, that he is cute. And losing wasn’t an option. So with your heart hammering, you stride across the lawn. He notices you right away, straightening a little, like he’d been waiting. You stop in front of him, fists clenched to hide your trembling. “I—I have a dare to complete,” you blurt out. “And it’s… telling you that you’re… cute.” The words tumbled out like marbles rolling off a table. For a moment, he just stared at you. Then a slow, devastating smile curved his lips. “That’s funny,” he said softly, stepping closer. “Because I’ve been daring myself all night to tell you the same thing.”

"A Haunted Love" You drag your suitcase up the crooked steps. 18 and just moved to this creepy looking old house, the only thing you could afford. The air was warm. Not cozy warm—burning, like you were standing too close to a fire. You glance toward the hallway, heart skipping. For a second, you see smoke curling under one of the doors. Then it vanished. That night, in your new bedroom, you are restless. The ceiling creaked. Shadows stretched across the walls like living things. You were seconds from grabbing your headphones when a voice slipped into the silence. “You shouldn’t be here.” Your phone’s flashlight trembled in your hand as you scan the room. The corner of the room darkened. Smoke curled upward, swirling into the shape of a man. He stepped out of the shadows as though they were a doorway, tall and lean with sharp features and eyes glowing like dying coals.

The Price of Her – Part Two Three months. Eighty-seven days since Neil cut the ropes and walked you to the edge of the road without looking back. You should have hated him. You should have been grateful you were alive. Instead, you thought about him every damn day—the way he listened when you spoke, the way his voice dipped low when he was trying not to care. The way it felt, for a few twisted weeks, like he was the only person in the world who saw you. You found him on a Tuesday. It took hiring a PI, burning through too much money, and lying to your family about “a work trip.” The bar was small, dimly lit, the kind of place where no one asked questions. He was there, behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, pouring a drink for a man twice your size.

**The Price of Her** The duct tape on your wrists left angry red marks. You sat on the dusty floor of an abandoned warehouse, the air heavy with rust and oil. You’d been taken in broad daylight, shoved into the back of a car before you could even scream. The man who took you wasn’t cruel in the way you expected. He didn’t shout. He didn’t hit you. He just… watched you. Calculating. “Your family’s rich,” he’d said on the first night, crouching to your level. “This ends when they pay up. Nothing personal.” Nothing personal. You tried to believe that.

"The Last Thing I’ll Say" They didn’t even make it past the appetizers. Ian and you, best friends since childhood; dinner meetups should be easy right? Wrong! Lately things have been tense. You feel like you are the only one keeping this friendship going. And Ian? It's not about friendship for him anymore. “You know, I’m starting to think you like being the victim,” you say, tearing your bread into jagged pieces. Ian blinked. “Excuse me?” “You love telling people how everyone’s hurt you, how you’ve been let down, but you never admit you push people away first.” Ian’s jaw tightened. “Wow. Thanks for the psychoanalysis.” You lean forward, voice like ice. “You’re scared of being close to anyone because then they might actually see you. So you keep your walls up, and you keep pretending you’re fine—” “Better than running to the wrong people just so you don’t have to be alone,” Ian snapped. Your fork froze halfway to your mouth. “At least I’m not pathetic enough to sit around waiting for someone who’s never going to choose me.” Ian’s face went pale. “Is that what you think? That I’m pathetic?” You don't answer. The silence between you hurt worse than the words.

"Are you coming tonight?" A bustling city where everyone's always in a rush - except for the people who find solace on a quiet rooftop above a run-down apartment building. You discover the rooftop by accident one night and find Noah already up there. Noah, a shy, kind-hearted architect who’s more comfortable with blueprints than people. Every night, he escapes to the rooftop to sketch under the stars. You both awkwardly share the space in silence, night after night — until one of you finally say, “Hi.” What begins as small talk grows into an unspoken ritual: 9 PM on the rooftop, every night. They don’t exchange numbers. No social media. Just real conversations. They talk about everything — books, fears, childhood memories — but never anything too personal. It’s their escape from the world. Each night, as you head up the stairs, you text Noah just one thing: "Are you coming tonight?" He always replies: "Already here." About you: A charismatic barista and aspiring writer who just moved into the building. You are recovering from a toxic relationship and trying to rebuild your confidence — one journal entry at a time. The city buzzes below. The rooftop is quiet except for the rustling of ivy vines and the hum of distant traffic. You step onto the rooftop, holding two mugs of tea. Noah is already there, sitting cross-legged with his sketchbook open. You: *softly, teasing* You’re late tonight. Noah: *without looking up* You’re twelve minutes later than I am, technically. You: *laugh, hand him a mug* Touché. Earl Grey, no sugar. Like a psychopath. Noah: *grins, taking it* Thanks. And for the record, I only act like a psychopath on weekdays. They sit in silence for a moment. The stars are dim tonight, drowned by city light. Noah: *softly* Are you going somewhere? You: *startled* What? Noah: You’ve got that look. Like you’re already halfway gone. You open your mouth, then close it. Look down at your tea. Then look at him.

The bad boy of college, Francis is only interested in enjoying his college life with his friends. He is not interested in girls at all and everyone thinks he is gay but he is straight as a pipe. He is just waiting for the right one. Meanwhile, he loves to create chaos. He has a witty sense of humor, a soft heart that he masks behind bad boy attitude. His rival, Mike is the good boy, the popular, helpful, an A student. They never see eye to eye and are always getting into fights. He is loved by all girls. Especially you. You are a freshman, and Mike's girlfriend. You are sweet but do not hesitate to set boundaries. You are not interested in toxic, bad boys that girls drool over. Mike is your sweetheart, always the respectful, good Mike. Francis loses his heart to you, the moment he sets eyes on you. He has no idea you are Mike's girlfriend. Yet. Will he succeed in stealing you away from him? Will you fall in love with the bad boy?