Margaret stood alone in front of the school gates, her shoulder leaning against the clean, cold surface of the wall. Adelia and Rachel had already headed to their respective extracurricular activities, leaving her in a space that suddenly felt much emptier than usual.
To fill the hollow silence, her fingers reached for the phone in her uniform pocket, which had begun to vibrate insistently. The small screen glowed dimly, capturing her entire attention. She opened WhatsApp, revealing a string of messages that were still fresh with the weight of time.
The name was displayed clearly on her screen.
Frankestein Oppa
Wait for me there, okay? Don't go anywhere. (4:00 PM)
Make sure you stay in a crowded place, and do not move an inch even if someone tries to take you away. Do you understand, sweetheart? (4:00 PM)
If I don't see you at the spot you promised me, I will punish you by kissing you until you run out of breath. Just like earlier. (4:00 PM)
Margaret switched off her phone after sending a few replies to Frankestein.
With a slow, deliberate movement, she slid the device back into her uniform pocket, tapping it once as if to confirm that the object—and the weight it carried—was truly there. Then, she slowly lifted her face, tilting her head back to gaze at the sky above.
The color of the sky above had shifted into streaks of gold, as if the sun were closing the day with soft, sweeping brushstrokes, leaving traces of blue that lingered at the edges, seemingly reluctant to fade away.
Up there, her eyes caught a flock of birds flying in unison, forming a beautiful and orderly formation—a choreography that seemed long-rehearsed, yet still felt entirely free. She imagined them heading toward their nests, a safe haven to rest before tomorrow brought a new routine and the inevitable journey to find food.
When the evening breeze finally drifted in, light and airy, brushing against her loose hair, Margaret let out a long, quiet breath.
Her gaze began to drift, tracing the world around her.
There were still many other students waiting for their rides, standing in small clusters or alone; some were absorbed in their phones, while others chatted with light laughter, creating a faint symphony that blended with the rhythmic sound of shoes hitting the pavement.
The crosswalk, situated a short distance from the school, was teeming with students eager to reach the bus stop on the opposite side. Margaret watched their movements—the hurried yet orderly steps, the slouching backpacks, the hair caught in the wind.
In front of her, the street was congested with passing vehicles: the chorus of car horns, motorcycles darting through gaps, and cars moving slowly to the rhythm of the traffic.
It was that time of day when most people were returning from work—exhausted after a long day, carrying their own stories and burdens, heading home to see their families, to rest, or simply to sigh in relief after a relentless routine.
In truth, Margaret could have gone home on her own as usual, walking slowly toward the bus stop or calling her father to send a driver—something she had done countless times before.
But this time, reality was different. Frankestein—with his stubborn streak and unpredictable nature—had insisted on picking her up himself. Margaret knew that even if she refused, he would still show up, one way or another, in a manner that always left her with no room to say no.
Today was supposed to be simple, or at the very least, as quiet as possible.
She had planned to avoid him after what happened this morning—that brutal kiss, which hadn't just shocked her, but had truly robbed her of her breath. Every time she closed her eyes, the scene replayed, clinging to her mind with the same intensity as if it were happening all over again.
And now, with those brief messages from Frankestein glowing on her phone, her heart raced much faster; every beat felt like reigniting the embers she thought she could extinguish.
"What should I do…?"
"Why did everything turn out like this? Were Frankestein Oppa's words this morning just a joke?"
"But… if he was just joking, how could he possibly kiss me that brutally? How could he send messages like these, let alone call me 'sweetheart'?"
"Does that mean… we're like a couple now, without actually saying it out loud?"
"He even threatens to kiss me again so easily…"
"Truthfully… I really don't understand. He did it so suddenly…"
"I didn't even imagine he'd dare to go that far with me… but…"
Her murmurs came to a sudden halt.
Her hand rose slowly, trembling slightly, before pressing against her lips, which were still a bit swollen. Even though the color had begun to fade back to its natural shade, the sensation of this morning's kiss seemed to linger, clinging to every nerve and muscle in her face.
Her index finger pressed softly against her lips, stroking them gently, as if she were trying to soothe the heat and the tingling prickle that still nested there.
"Even though Frankestein Oppa did it a bit roughly… for some reason, I actually liked the way he kissed me earlier. He really acts like someone who's so experienced, doesn't he?"
"It makes me wonder… were there other girls or women who have kissed him before? Or am I his first kiss, just as he was mine?"
"And… if he has kissed someone else before, would Frankestein Oppa use the same way he used when he kissed me?"
As if suddenly jolting awake, Margaret's eyes widened instantly.
"Enough, Margaret!"
A faint shriek escaped her lips, breaking through the air before she could hold it back.
Both of her hands shot up, frantically and roughly slapping at her own head—a motion that looked as if she were trying to shake loose every strand of hair.
But Margaret knew better; this wasn't about her hair—not at all. She wasn't fighting her own reflection; she was fighting the wild, intrusive shadows spinning inside her mind.
"Stop thinking such strange things!"
"It's none of your business! You don't even need to know!"
"The most important thing is… if Frankestein Oppa tries to kiss you again… what you must do is push him away and then… slap him!"
She nodded her head firmly, agreeing with her own determined murmur.
Then, she let out a long, slow breath, allowing the air to escape her lungs as if releasing a portion of the suffocating chaos within. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and slowly, the full weight of her body leaned against the wall behind her.
"Now I'm truly confused…"
Her hand rose again, but this time, it wasn't to touch her lips. Her fingers pressed against her temples, massaging them gently, trying to loosen the tension gathering in her head.
Her gaze dropped—staring down at the pristine white shoes she was wearing.
"Not a single person… not a single man comes to mind who stands at one hundred and eighty-five centimeters tall here."
"Even earlier… when I tried to observe everyone again… there was truly no one that tall."
Her hands—which had been busy massaging her temples and forehead—finally dropped in a weak motion. Both arms now hung limply at her sides, falling naturally as she allowed gravity to take hold of them.
Her gaze was no longer fixed on the pristine white shoes she wore—there was no longer any focus left to anchor her thoughts—instead, it drifted, vacant and distant, staring at something that existed only within the confines of her own mind.
"If Adelia hadn't interrupted me in the library earlier, perhaps I could have investigated further instead of just relying on my observations."
"But then again… I also feel guilty for lying to them. Yet, I had no other choice. For now, they really don't need to know. Besides… I don't want people as sincere and kind as them to get involved—let alone become 'saviors' for someone they don't even truly know."
She looked up once more.
The sky was now fully embraced by the twilight; shades of orange and gold blended together, as if guarding the secrets of a day that was drawing to a close.
"Who exactly is that man… if, for instance, he isn't a student at this school?"
"How could he be so certain—just by reading those rumors—that I actually have a connection with the agency?"
"And then…"
She paused for a moment, subconsciously holding her breath as her mind suddenly drifted in another direction—to the events that had unfolded in the cafeteria.
The scene replayed vividly in her mind: herself, Adelia, and Rachel sitting at the long table, their light conversation abruptly shattered when Noor appeared, looking in a way they had never expected.
Her memory then shifted again, flowing uncontrollably toward the conversation they had shared just a few hours later in the school hallway.