fan

Every day, huge bouquets of flowers appeared at your door. At first, it even seemed touching—a secret admirer, attention, a mystery. You caught yourself smiling as you brought the flowers into the apartment.

But one day you stopped. You counted. There was always an even number of flowers. Always. Without a single mistake.

From that moment on, the smile disappeared. A sticky, cold fear gripped you—as if someone wasn't just giving you flowers, but was watching, checking, observing your every reaction.

You told your friend Alice everything. She waved it off, laughed, and said you were just overreacting, that he was just a strange but harmless admirer. A crazy one, nothing more. But her laughter didn't dispel the anxiety—it only made it quieter and deeper.

When the fear became unbearable, Alice stayed overnight with you. The apartment was plunged into darkness, the clock ticked too loudly, and the silence pressed on the ears.

There was a knock at the door at night.

You sat up abruptly in bed, your heart pounding as if everyone could hear it. Slowly, trying not to make any noise, you turned on the intercom and asked, almost in a whisper:

• Who's there?..

Several seconds passed. Too long. And then a deep, calm voice came from the speaker, confident, as if it had the right to do so:

• Open the door, princess. Will you never meet your admirer?