CHAPTER 1-The Umbrella Boy
It's started on the day the sky refused to stop crying.
I was standing outside the school gate, drenched, annoyed, and holding a broken umbrella that looked more like a sad metal skeleton. Everyone had gone home except me. My phone battery was dead, the rain was getting heavier, and my hair was sticking to my face like wet noodles.
"Perfect. Just perfect," I muttered.
That's when I felt someone stop beside me.
A black umbrella tilted over my head, stopping the rain instantly.
I looked up.
A boy stood there — tall, clean, uniform neat despite the storm. His eyes were soft but sharp, like he could see right through me. I swear my heart forgot how to beat.
"You'll get sick," he said quietly, shifting the umbrella so it covered me more than him.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
Those two words melted something in my chest.
We didn't move for a second. We just stared.
The rain fell hard around us, but under the umbrella it felt like a different world — warm, calm, safe.
"Do I… know you?" I asked, confused by the way he looked at me.
His lips curved into a small smile.
"You used to."
My heartbeat jumped.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Before he could answer, a car horn honked. A shiny black vehicle stopped beside him.
He gave me one last look — the kind of look that felt like a promise — then he said:
"I'll see you soon. Don't disappear again."
He walked away.
I stood frozen, wondering:
How could a stranger look at me like he'd been missing me for years?
And what did he mean by 'again'?
But the next day… I found a white envelope in my locker.
No name.
Just one sentence written in beautiful handwriting:
"I've been waiting for you.
I stared at the envelope for so long that my fingers began to shake.
Who would leave something like this for me?
Who even knew my locker code?
I opened it slowly, heart pounding.
Inside was a small, folded note.
I took a deep breath and unfolded it.
"I've been waiting for you."
No name.
No hint.
No clue.
Just those five words that made my chest twist.
I looked around the hallway — students rushing past, talking loudly, lockers slamming shut — but none of them were looking at me.
No one seemed guilty.
No one seemed to care.
Except… someone was watching.
I felt it.
That familiar, heavy feeling of eyes on the back of my neck.
I turned.
Standing at the far end of the hallway, leaning against a locker, was him.
Umbrella Boy.
His uniform was perfect again.
His hair slightly messy in the kmost annoyingly attractive way.
His eyes — those deep, unreadable eyes — were locked on me like he'd been waiting for my reaction.
The moment our eyes met, he pushed off the locker and walked toward me.
My heart — traitor that it is — started overheating in my chest.
He stopped only a few inches away. Close enough that I could smell his scent — clean, warm, familiar in a way that made no sense.
"You read it?" he asked softly.
I swallowed.
"Was it… you?"
He didn't answer.
He just smiled — slow, small, confident — the kind of smile that says he knows something I don't.
"You shouldn't walk home alone today," he said instead.
"Why?"
"There's someone dangerous around."
I froze.
"Dangerous? Who?
His eyes softened with something like sadness.
"You already know," he whispered.
I blinked.
"No, I don't. I've never seen you until yesterday."
He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to decide how much to say.
Then — without warning — he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and silver.
He placed it gently in my palm.
My breath caught.
It was a pendant.
A little heart-shaped locket.
Old.
Scratched.
But beautiful.
Old.
Scratched.
But beautiful.
"I think this belongs to you," he said.
"That's impossible," I whispered.
"I've never seen this before."
His jaw tightened — barely — but I saw it.
"You forgot," he said.
"But I didn't."
And before I could ask what that meant…
He stepped closer and whispered:
"Don't open it until you're alone.
And whatever you do… don't trust anyone who says they know your past."
"I think this belongs to you," he said.
"That's impossible," I whispered.
"I've never seen this before."
His jaw tightened — barely — but I saw it.
"You forgot," he said.
"But I didn't."
And before I could ask what that meant…
He stepped closer and whispered:
"Don't open it until you're alone.
And whatever you do… don't trust anyone who says they know your past."
My blood turned cold.
"What are you talking about? I don't have a past to hide."
He looked at me like he wished that were true.
"Everyone has a past," he murmured.
"Yours just isn't finished with you yet."
And with that… he walked away.
Leaving me standing there, holding a locket that seemed to burn in my hand.
A locket that somehow felt like it belonged to me.
A locket I was suddenly terrified to open.