Chapter Two

Natasha

Sucking on the straw of my drink isn't going to make me happy either, but I have zero choices, because even after ten minutes, I didn’t get my order on the table.

“Here’s your order, ma’am.” The waiter says while putting down the whole tray. “Do you need anything else?” She asks, serving me for the third time. She collects the rest of the plates, eyeing my face, though I haven’t lifted the spoon.

“No. I’m fine.” I say, continue to sip from the straw.

My hunger becomes uncontrollable when I’m overly angry. My mother used to tell me that when I was a child, I used to eat a lot, which resulted in a bigger belly compared to other children. I would sit in front of anyone’s plate, even after finishing my food.

The situation remains the same even today. But there is only one difference now, I didn’t have to take medication at that time, but now I have to. This is because I eat outside frequently.

I was starving, feeling as if I were starving to death. I hadn’t eaten since morning. After experiencing sixteen rejections, it feels like I will perish my ass in a mere handful of water.

I take a mouthful bite of pasta, enjoying the strong garlic flavor. I grab my phone, willing to inform my mother that my future will remain dark; even if I try to spark some light on it, it won’t become any brighter.

As I pick up the phone, it vibrates in my hand. It’s her. Again. I informed her about the appointment last night. She must be calling to inquire whether I failed once more or not.

Bitch.

“What do you want?” I ask immediately after swiping the screen. I usually don’t hate her, but whenever her chaotic tone reaches my ears, all of my brain cells decide to fly somewhere else.

“They rejected you, didn’t they?” she responds in her sarcastic manner. Clara knows everything about me. She criticizes me because no one else does.

“Yes, they did. Now hang up,” I say in a dry tone. I hate it whenever she annoys me. Her taunts can give anyone an extreme headache.

“Girl, relax. You can try again.” She advises as if she’s unaware of the situation. I’m feeling an intense need to stab this fork in her neck. But she’s on the phone, so even if I want to, I can’t stab her. After ending the call, I will search for ways to kill people through the phone.

“Silence speaks louder. Tell me what hap—” I abruptly end the call. I didn’t answer just to listen to her fucking nonsense shit.

I roam my eyes around, and I almost choke on my saliva. “Damn it. I can’t even eat peacefully,” I purse my lips. It’s the same man who was sitting in the car during the traffic. If he noticed me, he would ask me why I was staring at him. I’d better leave. I settle the bill and exit the restaurant.

𖥸

I grumble.

If I had done all the work last night, I wouldn’t have to do so much now. I put my ass on the sofa, because it’s been hurting since I decided to clean the apartment. It took me two hours to do the housework. I tidied up the kitchen and bedroom, and especially rearranged the wardrobe.

It’s good that I have a washing machine; otherwise, I wouldn't have finished quickly. I need something to rely on. Looking for the TV remote, I turn it on. And—what the heck? I don’t know what happened to me, but I’m seeing that man everywhere. Even on the television.

It’s stupid to constantly think about him every time. Maybe I’m hallucinating him. I saw him in the morning and was staring at him nonstop. That’s why it printed in my mind.

I must hurry and prepare myself for college tomorrow. I can’t skip my studies.

I’ve been absentmindedly scratching my head with a pen. Students' faces are down, yet this professor lacks the sense to take a break and allow everyone to rest.

My headache is worsening. I’ll need to grab another cup of coffee.

After the lecture, I grab my stuff, put it in the bag messily, and hurry to the cafe. I keep my rush, and my steady legs stop at a point as I see a suspicious man standing outside the college campus, wearing a cap and a mask that hides his face.

I am unable to recognize him or determine where his gaze is directed. He stands approximately six feet tall and is wearing standard shoes.

He waves at someone but receives no response. I have never seen this man before inside or around the campus.

His appearance and behavior raise further suspicions. If he is indeed stalking or following someone, I must inform the college professor. I take out the phone from my pocket and dial the number, but before I can bring the phone to my ear, he is gone.

My brain is still not working. Who was he? What if he was that traffic man looking for me? I told Clara, but her mind was wandering somewhere else. If I tell mummy, she’ll think that someone is stalking me.

Fucking crazy.

As soon as I reach home, I’ll pick up my laptop and start writing another appointment letter. So that I can meet the producer once again, to sell my story. But this time I wouldn’t tell mummy. Not even Clara.

I’m putting my entire existence at risk for a future that seems useless.

How many times have I requested, and begged for chances and financial support from my mummy? All I want is to live a fulfilling life and provide my mother with the happiness she deserves.

I return home after a lengthy, exhausting day filled with zero excitement. I don’t have the energy to cook. I’ll have to order food from outside once again. This repetitive eating routine has driven me to the brink of madness.

I feel utterly worthless.

Present Time :

My migraine is breaking out just thinking about what happened two days ago. Was that man outside the college campus specifically searching for me? I hope that’s not the case. Having read numerous romance novels with stalker themes, my mind is struggling to determine what to believe.

If he shows up again, in that case, I will record him as evidence of a police complaint. Clara’s call made my migraine unfavorable. At any time I tell her my problems, she uses one hundred percent of her brain.

As I proceed, my phone rings with the notification bar on the screen. At the same time, the doorbell rings as well. Now should I check the phone or open the door first?

By the way, nothing special ever came on the phone. I’m not a celebrity. Therefore, the door should be open in the first place.

As I’m moving towards the door, I’m getting restless. I’m imagining, what if that suspicious man is waiting outside for me to open the door. Knife in his hand, eyes full of lust and blood. As soon as the door opens, he will push me, force himself on me, and kill me.

As all stalkers do.

I tap my head lightly. I seriously need to quit watching crime documentaries. I raise my hand to unlock the door, and it feels like I’m in a scene from a movie.

I open the door, but there is no one. Who could have rung the doorbell like this? Perhaps kids. The kids of this colony are wicked. I will fill a complaint in the box tomorrow.

My gaze drifts around, and then I glance downward. A bouquet is lying on the floor. I reach out and pick up the bouquet.

"Perhaps they left it behind by mistake." I speak softly, lowering my voice. There’s a card nestled inside. I take out the card and discover a written message on it.

Massage: Congratulations on your first victory.

Someone must have left it by mistake. I’m certain it’s not meant for me. I toss the bouquet onto the couch, forgetting to check the message on my phone. However, my eyes widen a bit as soon as I spot a small email notification from the studio where I submitted my story proposal.

Email: Miss Natasha Bennett, we are delighted to inform you that we have found your proposal impressive and would like to collaborate with you. Please reach out to the studio or the director for further instructions. Thank you.

I repeat every word written in the email, savoring the incredible news.

“So respectful. I—I did it. The moment has finally arrived to showcase my talent to the entire world.” I exclaim.

After two years of relentless effort, today I mark my success. After facing a bunch of rejections and setbacks, I have emerged victorious.

I feel like I’m flying through the sky. My smile fades as I recall the unexpected gift I received just moments ago.

Could it be intended for me? Was that man outside the college campus looking for me? How did that stalker know my address? How did they find out about my proposal being selected?

Along with happiness, a storm of many questions burst into my mind. It’s going to be far more scary than anyone could imagine.