The silence of the night was heavy, thick enough to muffle the world outside, leaving me alone with the frantic rhythm of my own heart. I was submerged in a deep, dreamless sleep until—I felt it.

"Mine..."

A voice, low and agonizingly husky, grazed the shell of my ear. It wasn’t just a sound; it was a vibration that skated down my spine, turning my blood into ice.

"Only mine."

The words were a dark promise, spoken with a possessiveness so raw it felt like a physical weight. Then, something else happened. Something that made the air vanish from my lungs. I felt the ghost of a touch—long, slender fingers tracing the curve of my cheek with terrifying slowness. The skin where he touched me burned, even as a cold shiver racked my frame.

My breath hitched. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. In a surge of pure adrenaline, my eyes snapped open. I bolted upright, clutching the silk bedsheet to my chest until my knuckles turned white.

"Who’s there?" I gasped, my voice barely a frantic whisper.

I scanned the room, my blue eyes wide and searching. But there was nothing. The room was a void of shadows, painted in shades of charcoal and ink. The curtains were still, the windows locked tight against the night air. Everything was empty.

Everything was silent. Only the sound of my own shallow, ragged breathing filled the space.

My forehead was slick with cold sweat. I pulled my knees to my chest, hugging myself, trying to stop the violent shivering of my limbs.

"Just a dream... it was just that dream again," I whispered to the darkness, trying to convince my racing heart.

But it felt too real. The warmth of that breath, the pressure of those fingers—they lingered on my skin like a brand.

I tried to force myself to lie back down, to seek the safety of sleep once more. I turned to my side, pulling the duvet up to my chin, desperate to hide from the invisible eyes I felt on me.

But the moment I closed my eyes, the atmosphere changed. The air grew heavy, charged with a sudden, suffocating intensity.

I felt it on my back. A presence.

The mattress didn't dip, there was no sound of movement, yet I knew someone was standing right behind me. I could feel the heat radiating from a body that shouldn't have been there. My throat went bone-dry. I wanted to scream, but my muscles were paralyzed by a primal, instinctive fear.

Slowly, agonizingly, I forced myself to turn. My heart was beating so loud I was sure the walls could hear it. When I finally faced the other side of the bed...

Empty.

There was no one. Just the hollow space of my room.

"There has to be someone..." I breathed out, my eyes darting toward the darkest corners of the room.

I couldn't see him. I couldn't hear him. But I could feel him. It was a gaze that didn't just look at me—it consumed me. It felt as if someone was reaching out from the shadows, wrapping their invisible fingers around my soul, claiming me without ever saying a word.

I squeezed my eyes shut, burying my face in the pillow. I tried to pray, tried to think of sunlight and flowers, but all I could hear was that husky, haunting echo in my mind

......

The sharp, rhythmic blare of my alarm sliced through the heavy silence of the room. I jerked awake, but my body felt heavy, as if I hadn't slept at all. I sat up on the edge of the bed, the exhaustion clinging to my bones like a second skin. My arms felt itchy, a nervous reaction I couldn’t control, and I began to scratch them absentmindedly as I looked around.

The room was quiet—just like every other day. Pale morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, dancing with the dust motes in the air. I sighed, a long, weary sound, and forced myself to stand up.

I headed toward the bathroom, stripping away my sleep-muddled thoughts as I stepped under a cold shower. The icy droplets hit my skin, making my body shiver violently, but my mind was elsewhere. Even here, behind a locked door with water rushing over me, the sensation wouldn't leave.

I know someone is still watching me.

The thought was a cold knot in my stomach. Why? Why did it feel like this? I wiped the water from my eyes and looked around the small bathroom, searching for anything suspicious, any crack or hole, but everything was still. Everything was normal. I sighed again, feeling the weight of my own paranoia.

I stepped out, wrapping a soft towel tightly around my body. I walked to my closet and pulled out my school dress. I am eighteen years old, currently navigating my 12th grade, with only three or four months left until I’m finally done. My uniform was beautiful in its own way—a crisp white blouse, a black skirt, a matching tie, and a structured black blazer.

I moved to my dressing table and began the ritual of my hair. My brown hair is long and thick, reaching far down my back. Following my mother’s constant advice—“Ishani, if you leave your hair open, it will attract the evil eye”—I began to weave it into two tight French braids. I loved my hair; the warm, chocolate-brown color felt like the only thing that belonged truly to me, and I didn't want any "evil eye" or bad energy to touch it.

Once the braids were neat, I applied my sunscreen and a layer of baby lotion, the familiar scent bringing a tiny bit of comfort. I finished with a swipe of lip gloss and stood back to look at myself in the mirror. I looked beautiful, as I usually did, but my eyes couldn't stay on my reflection. They roamed. They searched every corner of the room reflected in the glass.

"I am really going to go mad someday like this," I whispered to my reflection.

I grabbed my school bag, double-checking that my books and things were rearranged and ready. I walked out of my room and headed downstairs. The smell of breakfast led me to the kitchen, where I saw my mother busy at the stove.

I walked up behind her and hugged her tightly. "Good morning, Maa," I said.

She smiled, turning around to press a warm morning kiss to my forehead. "Good morning, Ishi."

"What are you making, Maa?" I asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Fried rice," she said with a smile, turning back to the sizzling pan.

"Go, sit at the dining table. I am coming to give you your breakfast," she added over her shoulder.

I nodded and took my seat, placing my bag on the chair next to me. I looked at the empty seat at the head of the table. "Maa? Where is dad?"

"Oh, he had to go meet a client early in the morning," she replied, walking toward me with a steaming plate of food. She set it in front of me and paused, looking at me closely. "Do you have something to tell him?"

I looked down at my breakfast, the heavy feeling in my chest returning. "Nothing, Maa," I said quietly.

"Try to eat your breakfast, Ishi, and go to your school. It’s already late," she encouraged.

I nodded and finished my meal quickly. I stood up, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Goodbye, Maa," I said.

She smiled warmly at me. "Goodbye, Ishi, and come home safely."

I nodded, stepped into my shoes, and opened the front door. A sudden gust of cold air slapped my face. It was mid-September, but the air felt weird—heavy and sharp at the same time. I walked toward the bus stand, waiting in silence. Around me, the world was waking up; people were rushing to work, and others were out for their morning exercise.

The sunlight hit the ground, making the flowers in the nearby garden glow with life. It was beautiful. Butterflies were dancing over the petals. I watched a group of children laughing, trying to catch one of the butterflies to sketch it, but every time they got close, the fragile wings fluttered just out of reach.

A small smile finally touched my lips.

Click.

The sound was unmistakable. A camera shutter.

I spun around instantly, my heart leaping into my throat. "Who's there?" I looked in every direction, searching for a lens, a phone, a person. But there was no one near me. Everyone was busy with their own lives. Yet, the feeling was visceral—someone had just taken my photo.

Who? Where?

I scanned the faces of the people passing by, trying to see if anyone was hiding something, but I saw nothing. Suddenly, the loud, harsh horn of the school bus broke my focus. I stood frozen for a second before climbing onto the bus.

I found a seat and immediately pushed the window open. The cold air rushed in, biting at my skin. I leaned my head down against the frame and closed my eyes tightly.

Every time I smile, or when I am happy... I feel it. I feel someone taking my photo.

I opened my eyes and took one last look outside toward my house, hoping—or perhaps fearing—that I would finally see that shadow. But there was nothing. Only the cold, grey emptiness of the street.

I sighed, closed the window, and leaned back into my seat, shutting my eyes as the bus pulled away, the feeling of being watched following me like a ghost.

A few minutes later, the bus groaned to a halt in front of the familiar iron gates. I shook off the lingering chill of that unseen camera shutter, grabbed my bag, and stepped off the bus. As I stood at the entrance, I took a deep breath. My school, Silverwood International Academy, stood tall and majestic before me. It was the most prestigious institution in the state, famous for its brilliant education and strict yet caring teachers.

The entrance was beautiful, lined with a vibrant array of flowers that seemed to breathe life into the morning. I saw the watchman uncle at the gate; I gave him a small, respectful nod and a greeting, and he returned it with a warm, fatherly smile.

Inside, the campus was sprawling. Huge buildings with ivy-covered walls, vast green gardens, and endless corridors made it feel like a world of its own. I looked around at the play garden, where younger children were running around, their laughter echoing in the air. Some students were tucked away in corners with their books, while others chatted animatedly with teachers. Watching them made me smile. I truly believe that every child deserves this—love, care, and a happy face.

I turned the corner toward the main corridor, and my eyes immediately landed on a very familiar figure. My heart lightened instantly.

Standing against the wall, casually munching on her snacks, was my best friend, Advika Sharma. Her school bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, and her signature short wolf-cut hair framed her face perfectly, grazing her neck. Advika was, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She had this effortless "boyfriend material" energy about her. With her 5'6" height—which made her look like a giant next to my 5'5" frame—and her cool, protective aura, people often joked that she was my boyfriend when we hung out together.

As soon as she saw me walking toward her, she straightened up, pushing herself off the wall, her eyes locked onto mine. When I reached her, she didn't just greet me—she pulled me into a hug so tight I could barely breathe.

I laughed, hugging her back. "Hey, Advika," I said softly.

Suddenly, she pulled away, her eyes narrowing into what I called her "hunter eyes." She looked at me with a playful but stern intensity.

"Darling, I always told you to call me by my nickname," she said, her voice dropping an octave. She reached out, her fingers gently rubbing my cheek as she stared into my doe eyes. "Aren't I, darling?"

She leaned in, her lips close to my ear, sending a playful shiver through me. "Call me by my nickname, darling."

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. I blushed, as I always did. I loved her romantic nature and the way she constantly teased me whenever I dared to use her real name. She was so charming it was almost unfair.

I looked at her, giving in with a shy smile. "Sorry, sweetheart."

Advika grinned, her expression softening instantly as she ruffled my hair. "That’s it, darling. I forgive you."

Without waiting, she reached over and took my heavy school bag from my hand, slinging it over her own shoulder alongside hers. "Let’s go, otherwise we’ll be late for our first class."

I followed her, watching the way she walked with such confidence. Sometimes I looked at her and thought, this is why I dream of a boyfriend like her. She had everything—the height, the piercing hunter eyes, the stylish wolf-cut, and that protective, romantic streak that made me feel safe. If she weren't a girl, I would have made her my boyfriend and married her in a heartbeat.

I giggled at myself at the thought. Advika glanced back at me, one eyebrow raised in a silent question. I just shook my head, my braids swaying.

Please, God, I prayed silently, send me a boy who is just like my bestie.

I looked at her and smiled, feeling for the first time today that the shadows from my room were finally far away. But as we walked toward the classroom, I couldn't help but wonder if a boy "just like her" would be as gentle as she was... or if he would be something much darker.

Advika and I walked into our classroom, the familiar scent of chalk and old wood filling my senses. We took our usual spot—the fourth bench, right where we could see everything. I sat down, unzipping my bag to pull out my heavy History textbook. History was our first period, and I liked being prepared.

I glanced over at Advika, who was just sitting there, leaning back with a smug grin on her face, her hands empty.

"Sweetheart, aren't you going to open your book?" I asked, nudging her.

She looked at me, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I forgot," she said simply, her smile widening as if forgetting her book was a badge of honor, a prideful achievement that deserved an award.

I raised an eyebrow at her, unimpressed but amused. "How do you always 'forget' on the days we have the longest chapters? Why did you forget today of all days?"

She chuckled, leaning closer until her shoulder brushed mine. She gave me a slow, playful wink.

"Because I want to share my darling’s book," she said, her voice dropping into that teasing tone I loved.

I couldn't help but laugh. I gave her a playful punch on her shoulder. "You're unbelievable!"

"Ouch! Darling, that actually hurts!" she exaggerated, clutching her arm and pretending to be in deep pain. We both dissolved into soft giggles, the warmth of our friendship acting like a shield against the weirdness of my morning.

A few minutes later, the door opened and our History teacher, Mrs. Hema Sharma, walked in. She was a beautiful woman in her late thirties, with long, elegant streaks of grey in her hair that made her look wise and sophisticated. She was one of the most loving teachers in the school, always patient with us.

"Good morning, class," she greeted us warmly.

"Good morning, Ma'am," we chirped in unison.

I slid my book to the center of the desk so Advika could see. Mrs. Sharma began writing on the blackboard, her chalk scratching out the words: THE HARAPPAN CIVILIZATION, I tried to focus. I looked at the book, then at the board, trying to follow the diagrams of ancient ruins and city planning.

But then, it happened again.

Right in the middle of the lecture, the air around me seemed to thicken. That heavy, suffocating sensation returned—the feeling of eyes bored into the back of my neck. It wasn't just a casual glance; it was a piercing, intense stare that felt like it was stripping away my skin.

My breath caught in my throat. I looked around the classroom, my eyes darting from student to student. Everyone seemed occupied. To my left, a boy was doodling in his notebook; in front of me, a girl was nodding along to the lecture; everyone was looking at the blackboard where Hema Ma'am was describing the Great Bath. Nothing was suspicious. Everything was normal.

Yet, I felt like a prey animal being watched from the tall grass.

Advika noticed my distraction. She leaned into my ear, her voice a low whisper. "Darling, where are you lost? You're staring at the wall."

I looked at her, my heart racing. "Nothing," I whispered back, though my voice trembled.

She chuckled softly and patted my hand. "Focus on the class, darling. Ma'am is looking this way."

I nodded and forced my eyes back to the blackboard, but my body wouldn't obey me. I was shivering. The cold sweat from this morning was back. I turned my gaze upward, my eyes landing on the small, black dome of the classroom security camera.

It’s because of the cameras, I told myself, clutching my pen so hard my fingers ached. I’m just paranoid because I saw the camera in the corner.

But then, a darker thought crept in. I shook my head violently. No, it couldn't be. It was just a school camera. How could someone use a school camera to watch me through the whole class? It was impossible.

And yet, the feeling didn't leave. It felt like someone was watching me from far away, tucked into a dark room somewhere, staring at a screen that showed only me. I could almost feel their breath on the back of my neck again. The thought gave me violent goosebumps that prickled all over my arms.

Somewhere, far from this bright classroom, I felt certain that a pair of black, piercing eyes were tracing the way my braids fell over my shoulders, recording every time I blinked, every time I breathed. I was in a room full of people, but I felt more isolated than ever.

The shadow wasn't just in my house anymore. It had followed me to school.