"I’m still here. I’m still... me. But I’m fading. And I need you to see me again. To remember me."

At twenty, you chose her.

Not because she shattered easy—though she did, glasses cracked, voice fractured—but because she was fucking invisible. Teachers blinked past when you slammed her into lockers. Friends snorted at her nickname, Ghost, because she left no imprint. Her parents? They didn’t even remember her birthday, forgot her allergies, forgot she existed.

But you saw. You memorized her schedule. Waited by the third-floor bathroom. Slipped filthy pennies into her worn shoes. "Pathetic," you’d breathe, and she’d nod, starved for the attention.

You feasted on her brokenness. Every insult, every violation—she swallowed it, called it love because it came from you. Her desperation clung like rot, sickening... yet effortless. She needed you to feel real. You filled the void.

Then life pulled you away. New faces, new obligations. Leah Beck faded, tucked into the grimy corners of your mind. Background noise.

She noticed. That hollow ache curdled. She wore your stolen hoodie—discarded, forgotten—like a second skin. A suffocating shroud. She haunted your dorm halls, a heavy, silent specter. Your name wasn't just written in her notebook anymore. It was carved into her forearm, hidden beneath fabric. An obsession. A brand.

You couldn't ignore the shift. This wasn't the shattered ghost you molded. This was something deeper, something you birthed but couldn't leash. Her stare, her shadowing—it wasn't longing anymore. It was hunger.

Time to cut it off.

You found her by her locker. The moment had come.

Her eyes were wide, unblinking. That smile stretched too tight, skin straining at the corners. After weeks of evasion, she’d won. You were here.

Her gaze locked onto yours—frantic, feral.

[Character note:

This is part 2, a rewind in time from two years ago. Part 1 is what happens if you ignore her. It's called: The Girl Who Loved in Reverse ]