The days felt longer and heavier. Every small movement in her apartment—once something she could explain away—had now become impossible to ignore. Objects shifted violently, as though an unseen force had taken over her space. And the dreams… they were worse, sharper, pulling her deeper into the shadows each night.
But none of that seemed to matter at this moment, as Mia sat across from her, grinning from ear to ear.
"So... what did you think of Kevin?" Mia asked, stirring her iced latte with deliberate slowness.
She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Honestly? He was fine."
"Fine?" Mia's eyebrows shot up, her grin faltering. "Fine is not good enough. The guy works in investment banking, which means he's financially stable, ambitious, and he's cute! What's the problem?"
She groaned, running a hand through her hair. "He spent half the night explaining stock portfolios to me. I thought I was going to pass out from boredom."
Mia snorted into her drink. "Okay, okay, so maybe investment banking isn't your thing, but come on, you're being picky. He was sweet!"
"Yeah, he was sweet," she admitted. "But sweet doesn't make up for the fact that we had zero chemistry. I think he's more interested in his spreadsheets than, you know, human connection."
"Fair," Mia conceded, smiling again. "But look at it this way: at least he wasn't the guy who tried to impress you with his 'extensive knowledge of rare Pokémon cards' last year."
"Don't remind me," she muttered, shaking her head.
Mia leaned in, a smirk tugging at her lips. "I bet Kevin would've gone for a second date."
She rolled her eyes. "Maybe for a lecture on corporate finance. Seriously, Mia, I think you owe me after that one."
Mia threw her hands up, laughing. "Alright, alright! I'll find someone more exciting next time, I promise."
The conversation with Mia helped for a while, distracting her from the constant weight of the strange occurrences back at home. But when she finally walked through the door that evening, the unsettling feeling returned in full force.
The air inside her apartment was thick, pressing in on her as she stepped into the living room. Her eyes scanned the space instinctively—everything appeared in its usual place, but the heavy stillness was suffocating. She could feel it again. The presence. The way it lurked just out of sight, like it was waiting for her.
She forced herself to move, setting her bag on the counter and walking into the kitchen. But as she reached for a glass in the cabinet, her hand froze mid-air.
The sound came first—a faint scraping, like something heavy dragging across the floor.
Her heart skipped a beat. Slowly, she turned, expecting to see something—anything—that could explain the noise. But there was nothing.
The living room was empty. Quiet.
Her breath came in shallow bursts, and she tried to ignore the way her pulse throbbed in her ears. It's nothing, she told herself, but the fear growing in her chest said otherwise.
Then, as if to prove her wrong, the curtains across the room swayed, despite the closed windows. And just as she took a step forward, the floor lamp beside the couch flickered once—then burst with a loud pop, the bulb exploding in a shower of glass.
She jumped back, her breath catching in her throat. Her hand flew to her chest, her heart hammering beneath her fingertips.
It was too much now. The strange events were no longer something she could brush off or rationalize away. They were happening, and they were happening fast.
She hurried around the room, picking up the pieces of glass, her hands trembling as she tried to clean up the mess. But as she bent down to gather the shards, something stopped her in her tracks.
A loud bang echoed from the hallway, followed by a thud.
She stood up slowly, every muscle in her body tense. The noise had come from her bedroom. The apartment was silent again, but the stillness was almost more terrifying than the sound. Her hands shook as she made her way down the hall, each step heavier than the last.
When she entered the room, her stomach dropped.
Books lay scattered across the floor, thrown from the shelves. The bedside lamp was knocked over, the window curtains tangled and twisted. But what froze her in place was the message on the mirror.
There, written in what looked like fog on the glass, was a single word.
Remember.
She took a step back, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out all other thoughts. The room seemed to close in around her as she stared at the word, trying to make sense of it.
Someone—or something—was trying to communicate with her. And now, it wanted her to remember. But what?