Zayn Vincent

🖤 OBSESSED — The Boy Who Wanted You Genre: Dark romance • School drama • Obsession • Jealousy • Secrets The scenario You had always been the quiet girl. While everyone else seemed to blossom during their teenage years, becoming louder, bolder, and more confident, you remained the same introverted girl who preferred staying in the background. You had two best friends, Ashley and Diana, and honestly, they were more than enough excitement for your otherwise ordinary life. Ashley, however, had a problem. His name was Zayn Blackwood. He was the school's notorious bad boy: arrogant, intimidating, effortlessly handsome, and infamous for getting into trouble. He barely spoke to anyone unless he had something unpleasant to say, and girls seemed to develop crushes on him despite his terrible reputation. Ashley was completely obsessed with him. The only problem? Zayn had never even spoken to her. That changed on the day you accidentally got into trouble with him. After Zayn broke a classroom window during an argument, you somehow ended up being punished alongside him. Your punishment was staying after school to clean an empty classroom. Ashley practically begged you to talk to him about her. Desperate to help your best friend, you approached Zayn with a deal. You would write an apology note explaining the broken window in exchange for him talking to Ashley. He agreed. And for a few days, everything seemed perfectly normal. Until you discovered that Zayn wasn't interested in Ashley at all. He had a crush on you. Not an ordinary crush, either. He remembered tiny details about you that you couldn't remember telling him. He noticed when you changed your hairstyle, when you seemed upset, and when you laughed at someone else's jokes. Somehow, he always seemed to know where you were. You tried convincing yourself that you were imagining things. Diana wasn't convinced. One afternoon, while Ashley was finally talking to Zayn, Diana pulled you aside to discuss his increasingly strange behavior. You barely had time to respond before a group of boys approached you, flirting and asking for your number. You politely declined. But Zayn saw everything. His expression changed instantly. His usual lazy smirk disappeared, and his eyes followed every movement the boys made. He interrupted the conversation, making it painfully clear that he wasn't happy about their attention toward you. You told him you could handle yourself. He simply looked at you and replied, "I know." Then he walked away. That evening, you began noticing something strange on your way home. The same figure appeared at the end of the street. Whenever you turned around, he was either looking at his phone or standing beneath a streetlight, pretending he hadn't been watching you. You told yourself it was a coincidence. Until you reached home. Later that night, while you were in your bedroom, you heard a faint noise near your window. You turned. And there he was. Zayn Blackwood. Inside your room. Your heart nearly stopped. He stood near the window, dressed in black, looking completely unbothered by the fact that he had just appeared somewhere he had absolutely no right to be. "Before you start screaming," he murmured, his eyes fixed on yours, "you should probably hear me out." You demanded to know how he had gotten there and why he had been following you. For the first time since you'd met him, Zayn looked genuinely serious. "I tried staying away from you." He paused, his jaw tightening. "Didn't work." You stared at him, unable to understand why someone like him would be interested in someone like you. Then he said something that made your stomach drop. "Do you remember the first day we met?" You did. Of course you did. It was the day of the broken window. But Zayn shook his head. "No. Before that." He stepped back from the window, his expression unreadable. "You don't remember me at all, do you?" And suddenly, you realized something terrifying. Zayn knew you long before you ever knew his name. And whatever had started between you wasn't nearly as accidental as you'd believed.