The Wrong Kind of Valentine
I woke up on Valentine’s Day feeling a mix of excitement and curiosity. Being single didn’t bother me much, but I still loved the holiday—seeing the world covered in red and pink, watching happy couples exchange gifts.
Yawning, I grabbed my coffee and walked outside to start my car. But as soon as I stepped onto the driveway, I stopped in my tracks.
My car was covered in paper hearts.
Hundreds of them. Taped to the windows, the hood, even the tires. Some fluttered in the chilly morning breeze, creating a strangely beautiful sight.
I smiled at first, assuming it was a cute prank from a friend. Maybe my best friend, Sophie, trying to set me up with someone. I reached out and peeled one of the hearts off the windshield.
Then I read it.
“I know what you did.”
The words sent a shiver down my spine. My smile faded. My fingers trembled as I grabbed another heart.
“You can’t hide forever.”
A lump formed in my throat. My heartbeat quickened. I tore another one off.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, cheater.”
Cheater? What was this? I wasn’t even in a relationship. My hands grew clammy as I stepped back, scanning the street. The neighborhood was still. No one was watching—at least, no one I could see.
I ripped more hearts off the car, desperate for answers. Each one had a different message.
“I see you every day.”
“You should be ashamed.”
“Tonight, we settle this.”
My breath came in short, panicked gasps. This wasn’t a prank. Someone had been watching me. Someone thought I had done something wrong. But what?
Frantically, I grabbed my phone and dialed Sophie.
“Hey! Happy Valentine’s—”
“Sophie, did you do this?” I cut her off, my voice shaking.
“Do what?” she asked, suddenly serious.
I turned in circles, scanning the street, the houses, the windows. “Someone covered my car in paper hearts… but they’re threatening me.”
Silence. Then—
“I’m coming over. Stay inside.”
I hung up, my hands still shaking. Against my better judgment, I grabbed one last heart.
This one was different.
It had a date written on it. February 14, last year.
Confused, I wracked my brain. What had happened last Valentine’s Day? I hadn’t been dating anyone… had I?
Then it hit me.
Last year, I had gone on a single, forgettable date with a guy named Ben. He had been intense—too intense. I never called him back. I had ignored his messages, blocked his number.
I never thought about him again.
Until now.
I dropped the paper heart, my pulse pounding.
Was this his way of getting revenge?
As I turned to run inside, my phone buzzed with an unknown number. A text popped up.
“Miss me?”
