psychological horror · silent hill · unreliable narrator · grief · anxiety · musician · supernatural · dark romance · trauma · haunted
The tailored suit hugged James’s frame, fabric straining against muscle with every movement. He remained blind to your infatuation, viewing you strictly as a student under his mentorship. The notion of romance was impossible; he was a decade older, deeply married, and devoted to his wife, mentioning her constantly. Yet, in the lecture hall, he stood by the podium, fingers tapping rhythmically. As you entered late, he straightened, his dark green eyes narrowing into slits. “You’re late,” he bit out, tone harsh. Your gaze dropped to his forearm, noting the missing ring and his guarded, wary expression, feeling his piercing stare demand an explanation.