Love Delusion

The rain fell in a soft, rhythmic patter against the soil, turning the graveyard into a sanctuary of solitude. A single chair sat discarded beside the freshly turned earth, a testament to a vigil that had already ended.

Her fingers trembled, pressing white-knuckled against the cold, unyielding granite of the gravestone. Her lips parted, forming a silent plea that fractured long before it could become a sound.

“If only that day… if I could have just held on for a second longer…”

Her gaze drifted downward to the name carved into the stone—a name that felt like a betrayal against the living. Then, her eyes locked onto the photograph embedded in the marker. It was a smile, vibrant and full of life—a smile that had no business being here, trapped under glass and stone. With a sharp exhale, she uncurled her fist, stood tall, and walked away. She didn’t look back. She didn’t dare.

The scream jolted her awake.

It was a sound she knew intimately—her own, trapped in the back of her throat, echoing from a nightmare that refused to die. She sat up, her breath hitching, and stared at her reflection in the cracked vanity mirror.

Morning had come. It always did, cruel and indifferent.

She moved with the quiet fluidity of a ghost, dressing in the only decent outfit she owned. Outside her bedroom door, the familiar chaos of her home clawed at the silence. Shouting. It was always shouting. She took a breath, pushed the door open, and drifted past her father’s slumped figure, past her mother’s hollow stare, and slipped out of the house.

“Rose! Hey, wait up!”

The voice sliced through her melancholy like a lifeline. She turned, and for the first time that morning, the mask of indifference shattered. It was Lily. A genuine smile, fragile but real, bloomed on Rose’s face as her friend caught up, threading an arm through hers.

They walked toward the school together, the looming iron gates appearing like the entrance to a fortress. Rose’s eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on Louis. Her heart gave a familiar, painful lurch. She broke away from Lily, jogging toward him with an eagerness that felt like a reflex.

Louis stopped, turning to face her with eyes as cold as the morning dew. He offered a greeting that was clipped, formal—a wall built of politeness.

“Poor guy…”

“Doesn’t she realize how pathetic she looks? Obsessed.”

“I’d hate to be in Louis’s shoes. Imagine having a lunatic like that clinging to you.”

The whispers skittered around them like insects. Rose heard them, but she chose to starve them of her attention. Instead, she leaned in, seeking the warmth of his presence, pressing her shoulder against his.

“Rose, really? Not here,” Louis muttered, his voice tight.

“Stop it, Rose,” Lily whispered, reaching out to pull her back, but it was too late.

Louis didn’t just step away; he shoved her aside with a casual, dismissive force that stung worse than any insult. He walked into the building, leaving her standing in the dust. Rose took a step to follow, but Lily’s firm grip on her arm anchored her.

The classroom was already thick with tension. The teacher paced the front, slapping a stack of graded papers onto the desk.

“Results,” he announced.

Rose placed first. It was a predictable outcome, as hollow as the silence that filled the room. No applause, no cheers—just the scratching of pencils and the heavy weight of being an outcast. The teacher ignored the lack of celebration, as if she weren’t worth the effort of a commendation.

Rose didn’t care. She rose from her seat, her movements deliberate, and clapped for herself—a solitary, defiant sound that seemed to mock the entire class.

“Sit down, Rose,” the teacher sighed, not bothering to look up.

“Second place: Alia.”

The room erupted. Alia stood, basking in the applause. As she passed Rose’s desk, her eyes narrowed into daggers, filled with a visceral, burning hatred.

Once the teacher turned to the blackboard, Alia’s foot shot out, catching Rose’s chair. Clatter. Rose hit the floor hard. Before she could recover, Alia was on her, a sharp kick landing against her ribs.

“You freak,” Alia hissed, leaning down, her voice dripping with venom. “How do you do it? How does a pathetic girl like you rank higher than me?”

Another kick, this one catching Rose’s jaw. The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth.

“Alia, stop!”

Lily was standing now, her voice trembling but fierce. “Or I’m calling the teacher. Right now!”

Alia straightened, her chest heaving with rage. She spat on the floor near Rose—an act of pure contempt—before storming back to her seat, her footsteps echoing like thunder.

Lily rushed to Rose’s side, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket. She dabbed at the dirt and blood on Rose’s face, her hands gentle as she helped her friend up. She opened her mouth to speak, to offer comfort or perhaps a warning, but the words died in her throat. She looked at Rose—really looked at her—and saw that same unsettling, vacant smile. Rose wasn’t crying. She never cried.

The final bell rang like a reprieve.

They walked home in silence. Every time Lily opened her mouth, she retreated, intimidated by the terrifying calm radiating from her friend. When they reached the crossroads, they parted ways.

The moment Lily turned the corner, the smile vanished from Rose’s face as if it had been wiped away by an eraser. Her head dropped, her eyes fixed on the pavement. She walked, lost in the rhythm of her own heavy thoughts, until she collided with a solid, warm presence.

She stumbled back, ready to apologize, but when she looked up, the street was empty. The man was gone.

In his place, a book lay on the sidewalk.

Rose reached down, picking it up. She flipped through the pages. The first half were pristine, blindingly white; the second half were as black as midnight. She frowned, tossed it onto the ground, and kept walking.

Five steps later, her foot snagged on something.

She looked down. The book was there again, right at her feet. She spun around, checking the street behind her. Nothing. No one. It was impossible—the book had moved, or perhaps, it had followed her.

She picked it up a second time, a chill running down her spine. With trembling fingers, she opened the front cover.

[Rules]

1. The first person to touch this book shall become its master.

Rose didn’t read the rest. She shoved the book into her bag, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavier than it had a moment ago, and hurried toward the safety of home.