It was during my summer vacation in South Korea, and I found myself living in a house in Pyeongchang-dong. The neighborhood was quiet, with families settling into their routines, but there was one boy who stood out: the plump, bespectacled neighbor who seemed to fit every stereotype of an otaku. I had always avoided him, determined not to get entangled with someone like him.

One day, fate had other plans. Our families crossed paths, and somehow, we ended up in a cozy hallway or maybe it was my grandmother's living room. The boy was watching a video, and I can’t recall if I made a comment or not, but suddenly we were chatting. Before I knew it, we exchanged numbers, and that was the moment when the first wrong button was pressed.

He began sending me an overwhelming number of video links, all similar to what he was watching. I returned home, feeling uneasy. Twenty minutes later, I checked my phone to find a barrage of messages waiting for me: “Why aren’t you responding?”, “Are you avoiding me?”, and “Am I making you uncomfortable?” Panic surged through me; I had been busy talking with my family. I quickly messaged back an apologetic excuse, trying to brush it off.

But the deluge of messages continued, accompanied by more video recommendations. Soon, our families arranged to meet again. I mentioned my concerns about the boy to my parents and grandparents, but no one seemed to understand. “He’s just a friend,” they said dismissively. When I voiced my fears that he might retaliate or attack me, my mom finally responded, “Oh, that could be true… just be careful.”

A few days later, our families gathered at a board game café. While we played, he asked me what I was doing next week. I told him my mom and sister were going on a trip, and I’d be spending a week with my dad before heading back to France. His face fell, and he replied dramatically, “I’ll buy you anything you want!” He then proceeded to purchase a massive aloe drink, two bottles of water, and an array of snacks from the convenience store. I thanked him with a forced smile, trying to mask my unease, and headed home with my dad, bidding farewell to the boy.

Days passed, and suddenly, the perspective shifted to that of the boy. He entered a strange pharmacy or maybe a clinic, murmuring to himself, “What if I just make her unable to move…?” The thought sent chills down my spine. I started to avoid going outside, always anxious, even while taking the subway home after meeting with friends.

Then, one fateful day, the worst happened. As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, he emerged from his house and pulled me into his. The door was slightly ajar, and he attempted to force a small pill into my mouth. I fought back, desperately trying to stall him with questions, demanding to know what he was doing and why. I could see him hesitate, momentarily caught off guard, which bought me precious time.

Somehow, I managed to evade that small pill, but what happened next was a blur. I remember sheer terror flooding my veins, and then darkness. I don’t know how I escaped or what transpired afterward, but the fear lingered long after, a shadow that refused to fade away.