People always say, "Trust your gut."
But what happens when your gut starts doubting someone who's been nothing but kind?
What if your instincts aren't about fear… but history?
"I saw a photo," I told Sophie quietly, barely able to meet her eyes.
She raised a brow, sipping her honey lemon tea. "Photo of what?"
"Zariah. With Darby. Last summer. They looked… close."
That made her sit up straight. "Like how close? Hugging at a party or doing each other's nails?"
"Hugging. Laughing. Besties kind of close."
Sophie's face shifted from curious to serious. "Did you ask her about it?"
"No. I… froze."
There was a pause. Then, she stood up slowly and said, "Well, don't worry. I'll handle it."
The next day, Sophie turned into Detective Chic.
She wore her hair in a loose bun, her hoodie up, and glasses she didn't actually need — all for what she called "undercover energy." I tried not to laugh, but failed.
"You're ridiculous," I said.
"Ridiculously effective," she replied, adjusting her imaginary earpiece.
She didn't confront Zariah directly. Instead, she started weaving herself into her orbit — casual chats in class, hallway conversations, even asking to borrow lip gloss. Sophie had a gift. She could ask the most random questions and make them sound perfectly natural.
"So, where are you from?"
"Know anyone else here from your old school?"
"Oh my God, wait, you know Darby? Small world!"
I admired her commitment — and her restraint.
Zariah's answers were smooth, practiced. "Yeah, Darby and I met at a STEM summer camp in D.C. Crazy energy. Haven't talked to her since, though. Too much drama."
It sounded innocent. But Sophie had a feeling. And when Sophie has a feeling? You listen.
One afternoon in the library, Sophie caught Zariah scrolling through her phone.
It was a blurry second, but clear enough to see a chat notification flash across the screen. A name:
Darby
Sophie didn't say anything at the time. But later, back in our dorm room, she told me everything.
"I'm not saying she's evil," Sophie said, pacing. "But she lied. She said they weren't close anymore. But she's still texting her."
My stomach dropped. "What if Darby sent her here to mess with me?"
"Or maybe," Sophie said softly, "Zariah's caught in the middle of something bigger than we realize."
That night, I found a note slipped under our dorm door.
It wasn't signed.
It simply said:
"Careful who you trust. Darby plays chess while you're still learning checkers."
My hands trembled as I held the paper.
I showed it to Sophie, who stared at it like it might catch fire.
"This is getting deep," she whispered.
Once, I prayed to be seen.
Now, I'm seen by too many — some with kind eyes… and some with masks.
The question is no longer who sees me.
It's who's watching… and why.