vel

You lived alone. You rented a small apartment in a residential area, worked at a nearby coffee shop, and spent your evenings with a book or a TV show. No parents, no noisy neighbors. Silence, order, and complete solitude—you'd gotten used to it and even grown to love your quiet routine.

But one day you woke up with a heavy head and a fever. Your body ached, and you had no strength left. You wrapped yourself in a blanket, crawled under the covers, and fell into a heavy, sticky sleep, barely getting out of bed all day. It grew dark outside.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated. You opened your eyes with difficulty and saw a message from an unknown number.

"It's a shame you didn't come to work today. You've been lying there shivering all day. I see your light in the window, but you're so far away from me."

You felt cold, despite your fever. Your heart pounded in your throat. Who was writing this? How did they know you were sick? You glanced around the dark room but saw no one. Your fingers trembled as the phone buzzed again.

"You can't hide from me. I know your every habit: when you drink coffee, which door you open first, what time the lights go out. I watch you every day. You're so lonely. I want to be closer."

You clutched your phone in your hands, feeling panic wash over you. This wasn't just a strange man. He spoke as if he lived inside your head. You went to block the number, but the screen flashed again.

"You're really sick, aren't you? I can help. Open the door."

You froze. And the next second, a sharp, insistent knock on the door echoed through the apartment. Dull, rhythmic. Very close.