Morning arrived slowly.
Riya woke after a night of barely sleeping. For a moment she lay still, staring at the ceiling, unsure if the previous night had actually happened or if her exhausted mind had imagined the whole thing. Then she turned her head. Her phone was still on the bed beside her.
The last message glowed faintly on the screen.
Unknown: Good night, Riya.
Above that message, the words burned into her retinas: "I'm not outside."
If he wasn't outside, and he wasn't in the room... then where?
Riya slowly sat up, the silence in the apartment suddenly feeling heavier.
Her eyes moved across the room. The door was still locked. The windows were closed. Nothing had changed. But the quiet didn't feel safe anymore. It felt watched.
By 7:00 AM, she was sitting at her desk. She didn't cry. Instead, she opened a fresh sketchbook and began to map the previous day like a crime scene.
At the top of the page she wrote: Subject: The Watcher. Then she paused, frowned slightly, and crossed the word out.
Subject: Entity X - because writing "creep" in a case file felt unprofessional.
Her pen moved quickly across the page.
Tactics: Stealth movement (man moves like he unlocked ninja mode), S-tier mind games, Uninvited academic grading and a total lack of personal space. (Seriously, who does he think he is? My GPA is already a sensitive subject).
The Bus Stop: Half a meter. Literally breathed the same air as me. My "danger senses" were on airplane mode while he was close enough to smell my perfume. Embarrassing for me, honestly.
The Note: F. A grade. He isn't just watching; he's instructing. A self-appointed professor who doesn't even know how to grade his own students.
The Hook: He knew I was looking at the reflection. He knows how I think.
The Motive: Undetermined. Currently leaning towards three possibilities:
1. Main Character Syndrome (Him, not me).
2. Aggressively manifesting dark circles to sabotage my 12-step skincare routine.
3. Ruining my beauty sleep because he has no life.
Conclusion: I am looking for a monster. I should be looking for a peer.
Note to self: If I ever catch this man, I'm grading his "Stalking Aesthetics" a D-. Zero points for originality, way too much "hidden boss" drama.
Riya closed the sketchbook and stood up. Her eyes drifted toward the chair near the bed. The coat hangs there quietly. Last night it looked like evidence. Now it looks like a monster. For several seconds she just stares at it. Then she exhales slowly.
"No," she muttered.
She walked over and grabbed it. If she stopped wearing it, he would win. She slipped it on and picked up her bag before heading toward the door. As she reached into the right pocket for her keys, her fingers hit something cold and metallic.
She pulled it out. It was a delicate, thin silver bracelet she hadn't seen in months. Attached to it was a small, engraved charm of an owl, its wings folded neatly against its body.
Her pulse quickened as she noticed the tiny folded strip of paper attached near the clasp. She unfolded it carefully.
Three words were written in the same precise handwriting she now recognized.
"You forget things."
Her stomach tightened.
Her phone vibrated in her other hand.
Unknown Number: Good morning.
Another vibration followed immediately.
Unknown: You only check the side that hurts. You forgot to check the side that helps.
Unknown: Use the bracelet, Riya. Look at the edges.
Riya's heart hammered against her ribs. She raised the charm toward the light. The tiny silver owl glinted softly as she turned it between her fingers.
At first it looked normal.
Then she noticed it.
On the thin metal edge of the owl's wing, a microscopic set of coordinates had been scratched into the silver.
She didn't feel relief. She felt violated. He had been close enough to touch her. He had slipped the bracelet into her pocket while she was distracted on the bus, standing right beside her in the crowded aisle. She had checked her left pocket yesterday, but she had been so startled, so overwhelmed by his presence, that she completely forgot to check the right one. He acted like a guardian. But he felt like a predator.
____
The studio was already buzzing with quiet activity when Riya arrived. Sketchbooks opened across desks while charcoal sticks scratched lightly against paper. Chairs shifted as students settled into their seats.
Everything looked normal.
But Riya saw the room differently now.
She scanned the space like an architect, her eyes moved across reflections in the drawing boards, angles between desks, sight lines across the room, and the blind spots.
The Watcher had changed the way she thought.
Slowly she began to realize how many blind spots existed in the room. Someone sitting at the right desk could see her workspace, the window reflections, and the hallway entrance all at once.
Her eyes followed the invisible geometry of the room until they landed on a particular seat.
The perfect observation point.
Then she saw him.
The quiet boy she had confronted yesterday. He looked up, caught her eye, and immediately buried his face in his laptop
The memory hit instantly, her accusation, his confused expression, and the entire class staring at her afterward.
Heat crept up her neck.
She quickly looked away.
Instead she chose a seat in the second row, closer to the center of the room.
Better visibility. A safe, central spot.
She had barely opened her sketchbook when her phone vibrated again.
Unknown Number: Second row today. Interesting choice.
Riya's blood ran cold. She looked around frantically.
A moment later, Professor Joseph walked in, shouting about "Structural Integrity" and briefly explained the day's assignment: interior perspective sketching based on observation.
Students began drawing immediately. But Riya wasn't focused on the assignment. She was watching.
As the class progressed she began noticing small irregularities. One student quietly changed seats halfway through the session. Another stepped outside for several minutes and returned. A third student kept adjusting the angle of their sketchbook as if trying to block something from view.
For the first time, a chilling possibility crossed her mind.
"What if the Watcher was already in the room again?"
Riya picked up her phone and typed slowly
Riya: "If you're watching, prove it."
Silence. Then the reply appears.
Unknown Number: Turn around.
Her spine stiffened. She slowly turned in her chair. Nobody was looking at her. Another message arrived.
Unknown Number: Too slow.
Her jaw tightened.Across the room, Riya's eyes locked on a student three rows back, a guy named Julian who was typing furiously on his phone instead of drawing.
Suspicion sparked.
Riya stood up and walked directly toward his desk. Students around them began to look up.
"Show me your screen," Riya said quietly. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a sharp edge.
The boy blinked in confusion. "What? I'm trying to finish-"
"Phone. On the desk. Now."
The room fell silent. Her phone vibrated again.
Unknown: You're making a scene.
Unknown: All that fire, and you're aiming at the wrong targets. You look desperate, Riya.
Another vibration.
Unknown: You like being the center of attention, don't you? Even if you have to burn the room down to get it.
It wasn't a threat.It was a critique.He was dismantling her character piece by piece from somewhere she couldn't see. Frustration burned in her chest. Her fingers moved quickly across the screen.
Riya: What do you want?
The reply appeared instantly.
Unknown: I want to see if you're as smart as your GPA says you are.
Unknown: Ask the guy by windows why he was crying in the library at 11 PM last Tuesday. Since you're so interested in his life.
Riya froze.
She had been in the library that night. She remembered seeing a boy hidden between the stacks, shoulders shaking quietly as he cried. She thought she was the only witness. She had assumed she was alone in the building.
She was wrong.
The realization struck hard. This wasn't a tech glitch or a random stalker. This was someone who had been standing in her shadow for a long time.Riya slowly turned her head.
Her eyes scanned the row beside the windows.
Her eyes scanned the row beside the windows.There he was. He was the same boy she had seen crying in the library. He sat near the glass wall shoulders slightly hunched, staring down at his sketchbook exactly the way she remembered.
Riya stepped toward him.
"Give me your phone," she said flatly.
"What? No! Who are you?" the boy protested, scrambling back in his chair. "I'm getting weird texts too! Is this you? Is this some kind of prank?"
"Phone. Now."
She snatched the device before he could pull away. As she stared at his screen, a new notification banner popped up right under her thumb.
Unknown Number (on his phone):She thinks it's you. Tell her she's wrong.
Riya's heart skipped a beat. She looked from his screen to her own phone, which vibrated a second later.
Unknown Number (on her phone): Again wrong target, Riya.
The sender was playing them both like instruments in a dark orchestra, watching the interaction happen in real time.
Whispers began to ripple across the studio. Someone laughed quietly in the back row.
Riya's face burned, the heat of embarrassment clashing with the ice in her veins.
The boy yanked his phone back.
"You're insane."
"Miss Riya," Professor Joseph's voice cut through the room. "Sit down. Now."
Heat flooded her face as she returned to her desk. Her phone vibrated again.
Unknown Number: That was painful to watch.
Another message followed.
Lesson Two: Don't attack without evidence.
Riya ignored the insult and typed again.
Why him? Why the boy by the window?
The reply appeared instantly.
Unknown Number: Because he's the one who found your silver keychain in the hallway.
Another message appeared beneath it.
He was going to return it.
A final message followed.
I told him to wait.
A pause followed, the dots on the screen dancing as he typed the final blow.
I told him you liked games.