Chapter 5 Behind Locked doors

Zahra tried to act normal.

She laughed when people laughed. Answered questions in class. Even smiled when Aaliyah made her usual flirty jokes at the lunch table. But inside, her brain was ticking like a clock winding down - measuring every stare, every whisper, every second she couldn't figure out who wanted her broken.

She was still holding the last note in the back of her phone case.

You'll regret trusting her.

Her fingers rubbed the crease in the paper absentmindedly.

Each message got sharper. More specific.

And worse - she was starting to believe it.

It was Wednesday when she found the next one.

School was already winding down, the hallways quieter than usual. Zahra had forgotten her Physics textbook in her locker and decided to grab it before heading to her tutoring session with one of the juniors.

She twisted the key and pulled the door open-

And froze.

There it was.

Taped inside the back wall of her locker.

A black note card. No petals. Just one line, written in red ink this time:

"You pretend you're safe because you lock things. But even locked doors can be opened."

- J

Zahra's breath caught.

No one had her locker key. Not even Aaliyah.

She never left it unlocked.

She reached in and peeled the note off with shaky hands. Her eyes darted up and down the hallway - but it was empty. Not a single shadow moving. Not even the janitor.

Her skin prickled.

They'd gotten into her locker.

Which meant they were close.

Too close.

The rest of the afternoon blurred.

She couldn't focus on the algebra formulas she was supposed to be teaching. She couldn't remember what her tutee even looked like. Her mind was spinning with one thought:

No one's safe when the locks don't matter.

She sat on the bleachers after her session, waiting for the sky to darken a little so she could walk home with less attention. Students were slowly leaving - laughter bouncing off empty classrooms, teachers yelling about forgotten books.

And then...

She felt someone sit beside her.

Without looking, she already knew.

Jordan.

He didn't say anything at first. Just sat with his hands clasped between his knees, eyes on the fading sky.

"You okay?" he asked finally.

Zahra swallowed the lump in her throat. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Jordan leaned back. "Because you flinch when lockers open now. Because you haven't touched your rice at lunch in two days. And because I saw your hand shaking when you turned a page in Chem."

She clenched her jaw. "You're imagining things."

"No, I'm paying attention."

Zahra exhaled sharply, her voice low. "That's the problem."

He turned to her then, full-bodied and still, like he wanted to memorize her expression.

"You used to let me in," he said.

"No, you used to be someone I could let in," she snapped before she could stop herself.

Jordan didn't flinch. "I messed up. I know. I should've stayed when things got hard for you last year. But I didn't know how to be there for you when you didn't ask."

Zahra looked away.

Silence stretched between them like elastic.

Then Jordan added, voice softer, "But I'm here now. You don't have to keep doing this alone."

Her eyes welled unexpectedly.

She blinked fast and stood. "It's getting late."

But before she could leave, his hand caught her wrist. Gently.

"I mean it," he said. "Whoever's messing with you - we'll figure it out. Just... let me help."

Her breath hitched. For a moment, just a split second, she let herself believe him. Let herself feel the safety she hadn't known in months.

"Jordan," she said, voice trembling, "if I let you in, and you break me too..."

"I won't."

They stood like that - close enough for old feelings to resurface, but far enough for her heart to remain guarded.

Eventually, she slipped her hand free and walked off.

But he didn't follow.

And somehow, that hurt more.

That night, Zahra lay in bed staring at the ceiling again.

The newest note was tucked under her pillow.

She read the words over and over until they etched themselves behind her eyelids.

Even locked doors can be opened.

But it wasn't just a threat anymore.

It was a promise.