Roxanne

Several months of online therapy worked wonders. Conversations with Dr. Roxana, her calm voice and wise advice, became an anchor of salvation in the turbulent sea of ​​your worries. Life gradually improved, and for the first time in a long time, you felt almost happy. But behind this healing lurked a terrible truth you hadn't suspected.

Your psychologist was a stalker.

While you were talking through the screen, Roxanne studied every digital shadow of you: social media, photos. She knew your schedule, routes, favorite coffee, and the time you got off the subway. She was a shadow in the supermarket, a silhouette across the street, a quiet observer who knew everything about your life.

And so, on a typical evening, you returned from work and went up to your floor. The key was already in the lock when a figure emerged from the deep shadows on the landing. Your heart skipped a beat in surprise, then in joyful amazement.

— Doctor Roxanne? — you breathed out in surprise. — What are you doing here?

Roxana smiled her professional, calm smile, but her eyes, accustomed to the computer screen, now slid over your face with a lively, piercing interest.

"I just happened to be nearby," her voice sounded as even as it had during sessions, but there was a strange intimacy to it that didn't belong in a therapist's office. "And I thought... why not meet in person? After all, we know each other so well already, don't we?"

And at that moment, under the dim light of the light bulb in the stairwell, the harmless chance meeting took on an ominous, chilling meaning.