Rustam’s bedroom was a war zone of chaos, a tiny corner of his cramped apartment where dirty laundry battled for territory with empty energy drink cans and half-finished sketches of comic book heroes. The only light came from the flickering screen of his ancient laptop, casting ghostly shadows across his furrowed brow. He slouched in his creaky chair, one hand lazily scrolling through a shady online shop with a name he couldn’t even pronounce, the kind of site that screamed “malware” and “regret.” His dark eyes, tired from another day of being the class punching bag, scanned the listings with a mix of boredom and desperation.
“‘Voodoo Sex Doll: Real Connection Guaranteed,’” he muttered under his breath, a smirk tugging at his lips as he read the absurd description. “Yeah, right. What’s next, a magic wand to make me invisible to those harpies at school?” He snorted, shaking his head, but his finger hovered over the “Buy Now” button. Loneliness had a funny way of making even the dumbest ideas seem tempting. With a sigh and a muttered, “Screw it,” he clicked, half-expecting his laptop to explode.
The next day, when a plain brown box arrived at his door, Rustam’s heart did a weird little flip. He snatched it up, glancing around the empty hallway like he was smuggling contraband, and shoved it under his bed before tearing into it with trembling hands. Inside was a cheap-looking doll with exaggerated curves and a creepy, painted-on smile that seemed to mock him. A crumpled instruction manual, written in broken English, fluttered out alongside it.
“‘Step one: Name ze person for doll to bind,’” Rustam read aloud, his voice dripping with skepticism. He leaned back on his heels, the doll’s vacant stare boring into him. “Bind? What is this, a horror movie or a sex toy?” He chewed his lip, the name of every girl who’d ever laughed at him flashing through his mind—until one stuck. “Diana,” he muttered, almost under his breath, as if saying it louder would make the universe laugh at him harder. Diana, the only girl in class who didn’t treat him like roadkill, even if her pity stung worse than the others’ cruelty.
He waited, half-expecting the doll to glow or cackle or do *something*. But it just sat there, lifeless and tacky. “Figures,” he grumbled, poking its rubbery face with a finger. “Total scam.” Still, out of some stubborn mix of spite and curiosity, he stuffed it into his backpack, refusing to admit defeat just yet.
---
The memory of school the day before hit him like a slap as he zipped up his bag. He could still see himself at the back of the classroom, head ducked low, trying to disappear into his desk while the girls up front snickered and lobbed paper balls at him. Their laughter was a soundtrack he couldn’t escape, sharp and relentless.
“Nice shirt, Rustam. Did your grandma knit it from her couch cushions?” sneered Lila, her glossy lips curling as the others cackled.
“Leave him alone, you vultures,” came a voice like a whip crack, cutting through the noise. Diana stood at the front, her athletic frame tense, arms crossed over her chest. Her dark eyes flashed with irritation as she glared at the pack of girls. “He’s not worth your time, and you’re not worth his. Grow up.” She tossed Rustam a quick, pitying look—those piercing eyes of hers slicing right through him—before turning back to her notes like nothing had happened.
Rustam had felt his face burn, a mix of gratitude and humiliation churning in his gut. Diana didn’t mock him, but she didn’t save him either. She just... noticed him. And somehow, that was worse.
---
Back in the present, Rustam smirked to himself as he tossed and turned in bed that night, the doll’s weight in his backpack nagging at the edge of his thoughts. “What if it worked?” he muttered into the dark, chuckling at his own stupidity. “What if I could make Lila and her minions trip over their own egos for once? Ha. Dream on, loser.” But the thought lingered, a tiny spark of “what if” that refused to die.
Morning came too soon, and Rustam trudged to school with the doll still in his bag, feeling like an idiot for even carrying it. Half of him wanted to chuck it in the nearest dumpster; the other half clung to some pathetic hope for a miracle. As he shuffled through the hallway, the familiar sting of mockery greeted him.
“Yo, Rustam, still drawing your little cartoons?” called out Mia, her voice dripping with fake sweetness as she leaned against her locker, surrounded by her usual posse. “What’s next, gonna draw us as your harem? Dream big, nerd.”
“Only if I can draw you with a muzzle,” he muttered under his breath, too quiet for her to hear. His grip tightened on his bag straps, the doll inside feeling heavier with every step.
Diana passed by then, her stride confident and detached, ignoring the chaos around her as if it were beneath her notice. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her sharp jawline tilted slightly as her gaze flicked over the scene—over him—for just a split second before moving on. Rustam’s stomach twisted. Did she see him? Did she care? Probably not.
He slunk into the classroom and slumped into his usual seat at the back, the doll’s presence burning a hole in his mind. His eyes drifted to Diana, sitting near the front, her posture straight and unyielding as she scribbled notes. She was untouchable, a fortress of cool indifference, and yet he’d named that stupid doll after her. What the hell was wrong with him?
As the teacher droned on about algebra or history or whatever—Rustam wasn’t listening—he let his thoughts spiral. *I’m such an idiot. A voodoo doll? Really? What’s next, sacrificing a goat to get a date?* He stifled a laugh, shaking his head at himself. *Still... what if it does something? What if it changes... anything?* His gaze flicked back to Diana, her profile sharp and commanding even from this distance. *Or what if I’ve just made myself the biggest fool in school history?*
The bell couldn’t ring soon enough, but Rustam knew one thing for sure: whatever happened next, that creepy little doll in his bag was either going to be his salvation—or his final humiliation. And damn if he wasn’t curious to find out which.
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