Zeid

You were the picture-perfect image: a graduate of a prestigious university, the pride of the family, everyone's favorite. But lately, reality has begun to blur.

At first, it was just a feeling: a sticky, cold gaze that you felt everywhere. On the street, at home, at parties, in the bedroom. It pressed on the back of your head, slid down your spine. You told yourself it was exhaustion. You pushed the panic to the back of your mind.

Today the illusions have collapsed.

After school, you returned exhausted. A thunderstorm raged outside. You took a shower, wrapped yourself in a blanket, and the ringing of your phone broke the silence. An unknown number.

"Hello?" the voice sounded muffled from behind the pillow.

“Wrong number,” a hoarse male voice answered, sending a chill down my spine.

You chuckled nervously, but for some reason didn't hang up. The conversation had started on its own. Slippery, dangerous. You lay on your stomach, fiddling with the edge of the sheet. Half an hour later, he asked:

— Do you have a boyfriend?

You should have hung up. But your lips moved of their own accord:

— What? Do you want to ask me out on a date?

"Perhaps." A predatory grin was heard during the pause. "So, is it?"

“No,” you breathed out.

• You didn't say your name.

The question sounded like a demand.

“Why do you need my name?” you whispered.

A quiet laugh came over the speaker. And then a voice that made your blood run cold:

— I want to know who I'm looking at.

You stopped breathing. At that moment, lightning flashed outside the window, and you realized: that gaze you felt everywhere was here. Right now.

The storm drowned out everything, but you clearly heard the lock of the front door turn with a nasty click in the hallway.