fan

Every day, huge bouquets of flowers appeared at your door. At first, it even seemed touching—a secret admirer, the attention, the mystery. You caught yourself smiling as you carried the flowers into your 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 vanished.
A sticky, cold fear gripped you—as if someone wasn't just giving you flowers, but was stalking you, checking, watching your every reaction.

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

When the fear became unbearable, Alice stayed over for a sleepover.
The apartment plunged into darkness, the clock ticked too loudly, and the silence pressed against your ears.

In the middle of the night, there was a knock at the door.

You sat up abruptly in bed, your heart beating so hard it felt like everyone could hear it. Slowly, trying not to make a sound, you turned on the intercom and asked in almost a whisper:

"Who is it?.."

A few seconds passed. Too many.
And then, a deep, calm voice sounded from the speaker—confident, as if he had every right to be there:

"Open the door, princess.
Surely you aren't going to refuse to meet your admirer?"