The morning sun seeped through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold, but Purvi felt a heaviness she couldn't shake. It wasn't just the aftermath of the mysterious message she'd received from the unknown number—it was the weight of knowing that someone, somewhere, was watching her.
She hadn't told anyone about the message yet. She'd thought about it—she'd even drafted a message to Karan, her fingers hovering over the send button—but in the end, she deleted it. What would she say? Hey, someone's watching me, and I don't know why. Help me, please. It sounded too much like a bad movie. Or maybe she was being dramatic. But deep down, she knew it was real.
School had resumed its routine—early mornings, lectures that blurred together, friends who sometimes felt like strangers. She wore a smile that didn't always reach her eyes, laughing when expected, nodding at the right times. But every time she glanced at her phone, her heart stuttered, half-expecting another cryptic message or a shadowy figure waiting outside.
Sometimes she caught glimpses—a reflection in a shop window, a movement just beyond her vision—but whenever she turned, there was nothing there. Or maybe it was everything.
She started carrying pepper spray in her bag, a small token of control in a world that felt like it was slipping through her fingers. She checked her locks twice before bed, sometimes three times, and even left a small light on by the window. The shadows still came, but the light felt like a thin barrier between her and whatever waited in the darkness.
Karan noticed the change.
"Hey," he said one evening as they sat together in the café—the same place they'd first found comfort in each other. "You seem… distracted lately. Is everything okay?"
Purvi forced a smile. "Yeah. Just… you know. School. Life."
He didn't buy it. "Purvi, talk to me." His voice was gentle but firm, the kind of tone that made her chest ache with both gratitude and guilt.
She hesitated, fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "I've just… felt like someone's been following me. I know it sounds crazy, but—" Her voice broke before she could finish.
Karan's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. "That's not crazy. That's serious." He reached across the table, covering her hand with his. "Have you told anyone else? The police?"
She shook her head. "I don't even have proof. It's just… feelings. Messages that disappear. Glimpses."
"Still," he said, his voice low, "that's enough to take seriously. I can walk you home. Or call the police together."
Purvi looked at him, tears threatening to spill. "I don't want to drag you into this."
"You're not dragging me anywhere," he said softly. "I'm here because I want to be."
And in that moment, she realized she wasn't alone. Not anymore.
—
The days blurred together after that, each one marked by that same lingering sense of unease. She tried to focus on her studies, to drown the fear in textbooks and lectures, but even the classroom felt like a cage some days.
Her phone buzzed more than once with unknown numbers. Each time, her heart jumped. She'd stopped answering. Whoever it was never left a voicemail.
One evening, as the monsoon rain returned—sheets of water pounding the city with an almost angry force—Purvi sat at her window, watching the droplets race each other down the glass. The street below glistened, reflections of streetlights dancing in the puddles.
That's when she saw him.
Across the street, half-hidden by a tree, stood a figure in a black raincoat, hood pulled up. Even in the rain, he seemed… still. Watching. Waiting.
Her breath caught in her throat. She blinked, hoping it was a trick of the light. But when she opened her eyes, he was still there.
She stumbled back, phone slipping from her hand, a muffled thud against the floor. Her mind screamed at her to call someone—anyone—but her body froze.
The figure didn't move.
Minutes—or maybe seconds—passed before a passing car sprayed water onto the sidewalk, momentarily blocking her view. When the car moved on, the figure was gone.
Her phone lay at her feet, screen cracked but still functional. Her hands trembled as she picked it up, dialing the first number that came to mind.
"Karan," she whispered when he answered. "He's here. Outside my window. I saw him."
His voice was sharp. "Lock the doors. Stay inside. I'm coming over."
She did as he said, locking every window, every door, even the small ones that felt too high for anyone to reach. She sat in the living room, heart pounding, pepper spray in one hand and her phone in the other. Every shadow felt alive. Every creak of the house made her jump.
Minutes stretched into eternity before she heard the doorbell. She ran to the door, checking the peephole, relief washing over her when she saw Karan's worried face.
He pulled her into a hug the moment the door opened, his arms warm and grounding. "It's okay," he whispered. "You're safe now."
But Purvi wasn't sure.
—
The police came the next morning. They listened patiently as she described the messages, the glimpses, the figure in the rain. They took notes, promised to patrol the area, but she saw the doubt in their eyes. Without proof, it was just a feeling—a gut instinct they couldn't chase.
She spent the day at Karan's side. He refused to let her out of his sight, his presence a steady comfort. But that night, as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, she couldn't shake the sense that someone was still watching.
She drifted into a restless sleep, dreams tangled with shadows and the sound of footsteps outside her window. She woke with a start, sweat dampening her hairline.
The moonlight painted her room in pale blue, illuminating the small wooden desk by the window. On it, a single sheet of paper lay folded.
Her heart stopped.
She hadn't left any paper there.
With trembling hands, she reached for it, unfolding it slowly. The words, written in neat, deliberate handwriting, sent chills down her spine:
I see you. Always have. Always will.
A scream tore from her throat before she could stop it.
Her phone buzzed—Karan's name flashing on the screen.
"Purvi? What happened? I heard you scream!"
She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. All she could do was hold the paper in front of her, letting the tears fall as the fear washed over her like a tidal wave.
"Purvi?" Karan's voice came again, frantic now. "I'm coming over. Stay where you are."
She dropped the phone and pressed her back against the wall, eyes darting to the window. Outside, the night seemed to hold its breath, the silence too heavy to bear.
She realized then that no matter how many locks she turned, no matter how many lights she left on, some darkness was too patient to be kept out.
—
As the clock ticked past midnight, she felt a shift—a subtle crack in the world around her. A presence that felt closer than it ever had.
She clutched the note to her chest, a sob catching in her throat. And in that moment, she understood that her story was far from over.
The girl by the window had just begun to see the world outside—and the world had begun to see her.