The wind had a way of whispering things Elena didn't want to hear.
Like how she no longer felt alone, even when she was.
Like how she found herself looking over her shoulder—not in fear, but in expectancy.
Like how the air grew warmer when she stepped into a room, as if someone had been there… just moments before.
She told herself it was coincidence.
The seat across from hers in the library was always empty now. Every time she sat down, it was already cleared. No books. No stray bags. No noise. Just quiet… waiting.
One evening, she noticed something carved faintly into the corner of the wooden table.
"I watch, even when you don't look."
She traced it with her finger.
Didn't report it.
Didn't even mention it to her roommate.
Elena started walking different routes to class. She deleted her social apps. She left her curtains drawn during the day.
But no matter what she changed, the feeling followed her.
She got used to seeing small things in her daily routine:
A second coffee beside hers at the café table.
A library book on her favorite subject left open to the page she needed.
A folded note on her locker:
"Don't talk to strangers who act like friends."
She never saw who left them.
But one day, she caught a glimpse of someone—barely.
A reflection in the glass doors of the humanities building.
A hoodie.
A stillness that didn't belong in a crowd.
Then nothing.
That night, she woke up at 2:16 AM.
Something felt off.
Her balcony curtain fluttered, but the doors were locked.
Her bedside lamp flicked once, then stayed on.
She sat up, clutching the locket she'd started sleeping with—still unsure why she hadn't thrown it away.
The air smelled faintly like smoke.
Cedarwood and leather.
Familiar. Dangerous. Silent.
Her phone lit up again.
Unknown Number: "Liam's lying."
She stared at the screen.
She hadn't spoken to Liam in three days. Not since he tried to sit beside her at lunch and she walked away.
Another buzz.
Unknown Number: "He's only close to get to you. I know his type."
Her fingers hovered.
Then she did something she hadn't before.
She typed back.
Elena: "Who are you?"
The reply didn't come for five minutes.
When it did, it wasn't a name.
Just one sentence.
"The only one who sees you clearly."
She turned off her phone.
Then walked to the window.
Across the street, leaning against the lamppost, was a shadow.
He didn't wave.
Didn't move.
But she knew.
Luca.
He was still watching.
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