Chapter 1
Iris
OCTOBER 11TH, TUESDAY,
My morning started with the sound of the freezer coughing. No sunrise creeping through my window, no birdsong while buttering my toast. Just a dying appliance hacking like it smoked two packs a day.
Standing in the kitchen, my hand hovered inside the fridge like I forgot what I came for. One of the cubes had a hair frozen inside it. Black. Curled. Not mine. I stared at it longer than I should’ve.
Last week, there was an artificial pink nail, inside of my cereal box. Not inside the box, technically. But, inside the cereal bag. I hate pink. I stared at it for a long time too. Then, I left it on the counter like evidence for a crime no one would ever care to investigate.
The day before that, my toothbrush tasted like lemons. I don’t buy lemon toothpaste. I use mint. I checked the tube three times. Clearly read mint, yet still tasted lemons.
It’s nothing serious, I told myself. After all, that was the life of roommates. And Mira wasn’t the type to notice small things. She was the kind of person who filled the ice tray one-handed while texting, ripped cereal bags open like gift wrap, and never once checked which toothbrush was hers, as if choosing wrong didn’t matter.
I stole a peek at the hallway. Her door was half-closed, casting a rectangle of soft silver light on the floor.
The thing about paranoia; is it always starts with noticing. And once you do, you can’t stop. Not until something snaps.
I finally yanked the tray out and threw the hairy cube in the sink. I dumped the ice into my coffee cup. Milk sloshed over the rim and hit my wrist.
My phone lit up the moment I unlocked it. It buzzed once, twice, then didn’t stop. A rain of notifications from the group chat poured out like someone had knocked over a beehive. They usually texted when they needed lecture notes or to ask why I left the class early the last day, instead of hanging out with them at a club or something. Not that they actually cared, but just to point out that I was ‘weird’ and laugh about it.
I stared at the screen. Message after message, stacked like an avalanche.
Penny: Did anyone get the notes from bio lab?
Greg: Iris must have it. I saw her taking notes.
Talia: Someone please tell me we don’t have a quiz tomorrow.
Penny: IRIS??
Ray: We have a quiz on Tuesday.
Talia: That’s tomorrow, you idiot!!
Penny: IRIIISSS??????
I didn’t bother replying. They only remembered I existed when they missed something or needed a copy of my lecture notes.
I sipped my iced coffee and sat by the window, knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves over my palms. The streetlight in front of our building flickered like it was winking at me. Behind it, just the dark skeletons of trees and the stretch of pavement that led nowhere interesting. A man stood next to the streetlight. He wasn’t smoking, not texting, not even moving. He was just standing there, staring up at the sky like he forgot why he existed. His white shirt clung to his frame from last night’s heavy rain.
I leaned forward, squinting past my reflection in the glass. Then, as if he knew I was watching, the man tilted his head, looking straight at me. I flinched back immediately and knocked over my glass. It hit the floor, shattering into pieces. I stared at the spilled coffee glistening like blood under the white beam from the ceiling.
Then, I looked back out of the window. The man was gone.
Mira’s door creaked open.
“Iris?” she mumbled, her voice fogged with sleep as she leaned against the frame. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I said, standing slowly. “The glass just slipped from my hand.”
She rubbed her eye. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I picked up the biggest shard first.
“What time is it?”
Outside, the streetlight stopped flickering and went off. A bruise-colored blue stretched behind the rooftops. Dawn was breaking.
“It’s six fifteen,” I said, my eyes tearing from the window to the clock on the wall.
“Urgh. I still have two hours to go,” she mumbled, already stumbling back inside her room. Her door clicked shut behind her, followed by the sound of my feet stepping over the coffee puddle.
I grabbed paper towels and cleaning spray. The bitter scent of citrus cleaner filled the air as I wiped up the mess, trying not to think about the man down the streets.
It was probably nothing, again.
Once the floor was clean, I washed my hands, started the kettle, and put together something simple: toast, eggs, and one mug of hot coffee. I left Mira’s plate on the counter with a sticky note. ‘I cooked. So, you clean. You better not leave it for later.’
She’d roll her eyes at the note. Crush the paper. Eat her breakfast. Then, leave the dishes in the sink.
By seven, I had my backpack slung over my shoulder, earbuds shoved in to block the world out before it started speaking to me. I rushed downstairs. The city was slowly waking, most stores were still half-asleep. I liked it this way; quiet for my thoughts to breathe, but not enough to choke me.
The bus stop was just three blocks away. I walked, glancing at the street corners and shadows of the alleyways without meaning to. Call it a habit.
When the bus finally arrived, it gave its usual screech before sighing to a halt. I stepped inside, scanned my pass, and took my usual seat by the window, third seat behind the driver. The ride was the usual blur of engine hums, stoplights, and a stale blend of too much cologne and not enough fresh air.
I sat with my head leaned against the cool glass. Students mumbled through my quiet music. A man with a marine-blue suit slept with his mouth open two seats down. Someone in the back was eating something that smelled like over-boiled eggs.
My fingers tapped absently against my knee. As we neared my stop, I straightened up, rubbing my shoulder. I should’ve listened to Mira last night when she told me to not stay up for too long. But I had to finish rewriting the notes from Genetics Class.
My muscles felt sore. Stretching my neck, my gaze darted to the other side of the bus opposite my seat. There was a reddish smear on the corner of the window. I blinked and looked carefully. A dark trail of thin and uneven lines on the glass. It was faint, barely visible from my angle. But once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it.
Blood.
It looked like blood.
I frowned, trying to look again. I even had to twist awkwardly, almost standing to see it better, but the bus jerked to a stop—my stop. The doors hissed open. I hesitated, one foot half in the aisle. Yet, at last, I stepped out, my shoes hitting the pavement.
Behind me, the doors folded shut. The bus pulled away. I stood still for a second, watching it vanish around the corner like nothing had happened. But surely something had. I just didn’t know what it was, yet.
The morning passed in a blur of lectures and fluorescent lighting. I moved from one classroom to the next, just following my schedule. I kept my head down during class, jotting notes as fast as I could while the whiteboard filled up with molecular pathways and protein names that looked more like scrambled passwords. My seat was on the left row, second from the window, far enough from the front to avoid eye contact, but close enough to pay attention.
At lunch period, my classmates surged toward the door like a dam just broke. I slung my backpack over one shoulder and stepped into the slightly sunlit courtyard. Students milled around in lazy clusters, laughing, scrolling, or rushing nowhere.
“Iris!”
I turned.
Theo Kessler jog-walked toward me, waving at me with one hand and a red spiral notebook in the other. His auburn hair was as disheveled as always, like he’d fought gravity and lost. He was one of those grad students who looked like they hadn’t slept since the semester started. He wore an oversized hoodie and a messenger bag. His dark eyes hadn’t quite looked awake. Still, he had this warm, boyish grin that always made it hard to ignore him.
“Hey,” I said, adjusting my bag. “What’s up?”
He caught his breath, offering me the notebook. “Thought you might need these. My old notes from the Anatomy Class. Dr. Kenner is using the same slides, like, word for word.”
I took it. His handwriting was messy but legible, filled with arrows and margin doodles.
It all started last year. I’d shown up late to one of the Microbiology seminars, nervous and lost, probably looking like I’d wandered in from a different department. The only seat left was the one next to him. My hands were shaking from too much coffee and too little sleep.
Once the seminar was over, Theo dropped his notebook while gathering his stuff. I picked it up for him, read a few sentences and comments from his notes.
Then, I said, half-joking when I handed it to him. “You should get your notes published and make our lives easier.”
But he took it seriously and replied. “I still have old notes from my first year. If–if you want… of course. They’re… they’re much neater than the professor’s rumbling.”
I’d said yes because, at that time, I was barely holding myself together. I would’ve even cast spells or something to pass that year. What started as a one-time thing, turned into a quiet ritual neither of us could break. Each time, he’d give me a new set of summaries, diagrams, even notes with jokes in the margins.
“I could barely understand a word from him earlier,” I said, flipping through the pages of the red spiral notebook. “This will save me the trouble. Thanks.”
“Happy to help.”
Theo lingered, like he wanted to say something else. But before he could, he waved at someone behind me. I looked over my shoulder. Mira waved back at him, walking to my side, one eyebrow cocked and a smirk plastered across her face like she knew the end of a joke I hadn’t heard yet.
Theo cleared his throat. “Uh, I should go. Got a seminar at ten.”
I nodded. “See you.”
He jogged off and Mira nudged my arm with her shoulder. “You and Theo, huh?”
“There’s no ‘me and Theo.’ He’s just helping me study. He’s a grad student and I’m a second-year. That’s not a thing.”
“Doesn’t stop him from looking at you like you’re a pop quiz he actually wants to take.”
“Mira.”
“What? I think it’s cute.”
I shook my head, trying not to scowl as we headed toward the cafeteria.
Inside, the place buzzed with the sound of trays clattering, chairs scraping, and coffee machines working overtime. We found a small table by the window and dumped our bags.
As Mira pulled out her sandwich, I stared at my phone screen. In my notepad–where I usually write things that felt “off” during the day, like mismatched socks on strangers or street lights flickering out–the last thing I typed was the blood on the bus.
“Where’s your mind at? Theo?” Mira asked, mid-bite.
I hesitated, putting my phone aside. “No. It’s something I saw on the bus this morning.”
Her chewing slowed.
I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to a whisper. “There was a red smear on the wall reaching to the window. It looked like… blood.”
She blinked at me. “Are you sure it wasn’t rust, or like, old gum or something gross?”
“It wasn’t rust. I’m sure. Haven’t you noticed anything when you took it today?”
“I was on my phone. I nearly missed the campus stop. Daniel wants us to go back together.”
“You’re texting him again?”
“I just pulled my heart out for the last time, then I blocked him. I swear. You don’t have to worry.”
“You’re the type to get her head swayed easily. And you’re not in a situation to repeat a year again, Mira.”
“Anyway.” She waved the matter off. “Didn’t anyone say anything about that smear thing?”
“I didn’t have time to check. I saw it right as I was about to get off.”
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Iris… not again.”
“What?”
“You do this all the time. You get in your own head, start seeing shadows where there aren’t any.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Last year, you thought that guy from the bookstore was following you. You even called me crying. Turned out he was just trying to return your ID card.”
“Okay, that was one time.”
“What about the girl in the library who you were convinced stole your phone?”
“She did take it! She said it was hers and didn’t even apologize when I proved her wrong.”
Mira sighed. “You got… a vivid imagination. That’s all I’m saying.”
“It’s not just imagination. Something felt wrong this morning. I don’t know what exactly I saw, but it wasn’t normal.”
“In my opinion, you’re being paranoid. You must be under stress. Exams, your parents splitting up, and your sis—” She cut herself off, not wanting to even finish the word.
“I ignored my gut once. I won’t do it again.”
Mira didn’t say anything, just nodded and returned to her sandwich. I sat there, my phone in my hand, and the image of blood smeared across the wall of the bus refusing to leave my mind.
