Getting Over Him

Presence

Pat's P.O.V:

The morning started like any other, with sunlight softly sneaking its way through the blinds, pulling me out of sleep. I could feel Pran's presence beside me, his steady breathing the only sound in the quiet room. We didn't talk about it, but we both knew that any moment now, we'd have to part ways. The risk of someone seeing us leaving together was too high. It had always been this way—a routine formed out of necessity, a sacrifice we'd both learned to live with.

Pran was the first to move. He stretched, his arm brushing against mine, and then he began to dress, each movement careful and deliberate. I watched him for a moment, capturing the way he looked in the early morning light, as if storing it for later. There was a kind of sadness in our silence, a quiet acknowledgment that we'd never been able to have mornings like this without strings attached.

Pran gave me a soft, lingering smile before heading to the door. He didn't say anything, didn't need to; the look in his eyes said enough. I returned his smile, feeling the familiar mix of love and longing tug at my chest. With one last glance, he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

A few minutes later, I grabbed my things, gave the room a quick scan to make sure there were no traces of him left behind, and headed out. I was halfway across campus when my phone buzzed in my pocket. Expecting it to be a quick message from Pran, I fished it out with a small smile, only to freeze when I saw the unknown number.

'Who could this be?'

Curiosity tugged at me, but as soon as I opened the message, a wave of dread crashed over me. My heart stopped.

It was a photo of me and Pran—grainy but clear enough to see that it was us. We were sitting in my car, our faces close, lost in a kiss. I knew instantly when it had been taken; the details were vivid in my mind. We'd been parked on a quiet street just off campus, thinking we were safe, hidden from prying eyes.

The message beneath the photo was short and cold:

*"I know who you are. If you don't want me to tell your parents, then meet me at the abandones warehouse that is by the dorms. Tonight. Don't try anything, or everyone finds out."*

The blood drained from my face, and my mind spun with questions. Who had taken this? How long had they been watching us? I looked around, almost expecting to catch sight of someone smirking at me from the crowd. But all I saw were other students, absorbed in their own worlds.

I took a shaky breath and quickly typed out a response.

*"Who are you, you motherfucker? What do you want?!"*

I hit send and waited, staring at the screen, but no reply came. The silence on the other end was as ominous as the threat itself. I felt trapped, like the walls were closing in around me, the weight of the photo and the message pressing down on my chest until I could barely breathe.

Korn asked me what was wrong, and I tried my best to smile it off as if nothing happened. He looked very concerned, "Pat, you know that I will always have your back, right?"

I nod, "of course I know. You are my brother from another mother! I also have your back."

After that, he dropped the matter.

I wanted to tell Pran. I needed to tell him. But at the same time, I knew I couldn't risk it—not here, not out in the open where anyone could see. If whoever sent this message was watching, I couldn't afford to let them know that I was shaken. I forced myself to keep walking, one foot in front of the other, as though nothing had changed. But inside, my mind was racing.

I went through the rest of the day on autopilot, my thoughts tangled in a knot I couldn't untangle. Classes passed in a blur, the lectures and discussions barely registering. All I could think about was the photo, the message, and the looming threat that hung over me like a storm cloud. Every time my phone buzzed, I felt a surge of dread, half expecting it to be another message from that unknown number.

Finally, when the day was over, I made my way to the old building on Maple Street. It was a place I'd only heard about, an abandoned structure that had once been a warehouse or factory, but had long since fallen into disrepair. Now, it was just a hollow shell, overgrown with weeds and marked by graffiti.

I approached the building cautiously, the weight of each step sinking into the cracked pavement. I could feel my pulse hammering in my chest, my senses on high alert as I scanned the area for any sign of movement. There was no one in sight. The place was deserted, a fitting backdrop for the trap I knew I was walking into.

When I reached the door, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the handle. A part of me wanted to turn back, to run, but I knew that wasn't an option. If this person had the photo, they could destroy everything. Not just my relationship with Pran, but everything we'd fought so hard to keep hidden. I pushed the door open, stepping into the dim interior.

Inside, the air was stale, thick with the smell of dust and decay. The only light came from the broken windows, casting jagged shadows across the floor. I stood there, waiting, every muscle in my body tense, my ears straining to catch the faintest sound.

Then I heard it—a faint shuffling of footsteps, echoing off the concrete walls. I turned, and there he was. A tall figure stepped out of the shadows, his face obscured by the hood of his sweatshirt. I couldn't see his eyes, but I could feel them on me, sizing me up, calculating.

"You got my message," he said, his voice low and smooth, with an edge that sent a shiver down my spine.

I nodded, my fists clenched at my sides. "What do you want?" I demanded, forcing my voice to stay steady.

He chuckled, a cold, mirthless sound. "It's simple, really. You pay me, and I keep my mouth shut. Don't pay, and that photo goes straight to your parents—and Pran's. I'm sure they'd love to see what their sons have been up to behind their backs."

I felt a surge of anger rise in me, mixing with the fear that had taken root in my chest. "How much?"

He named a number that made my stomach drop. I didn't have that kind of money, not even close. But I knew that was the point. He wasn't just after money; he wanted control. He wanted to make me squirm, to see me desperate.

I took a step forward, trying to keep my voice steady. "And what if I don't have that?"

The man tilted his head, as if considering me. "Then you'd better find a way to get it. I'll give you a week. After that, the deal's off." He turned, walking away, leaving me standing there, alone in the empty building, his words hanging in the air like a noose around my neck.

I stayed there for a moment, letting the weight of his threat sink in. I felt like I was on the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss, and there was no one there to catch me if I fell. But I knew one thing—I wasn't going to let him win. For Pran's sake, I'd find a way to fight back. No matter what it took.

Maybe I would have to ask Korn for help...