I stared at my phone for a long time after the last message.
Sleep tight, Aria.
The words glowed faintly in the darkness of my room, innocent on the surface, yet heavy enough to keep my chest tight. My fingers hovered over the screen, uncertain. Every instinct screamed at me to lock my phone, turn it off, pretend the message didn't exist.
But pretending hadn't helped so far.
I shifted slightly on the bed, careful not to wake Mia. She was curled up beside me, facing the wall, her breathing slow and even. For a moment, I envied her peace. She could sleep without wondering who was watching, without replaying words in her head until they lost their meaning.
I couldn't.
The silence felt too loud.
Slowly, I unlocked my phone again.
The message was still there.
Sleep tight, Aria.
My heart beat harder. Whoever this person was, they were confident. Calm. As if they knew I wouldn't block the number. As if they knew fear alone would keep me still.
That thought made something shift inside me.
Fear had controlled my whole day. It had kept me from lunch, from laughter, from breathing freely. And I hated that. Hated that someone I couldn't even see had that much power over me.
Before I could change my mind, my thumbs moved.
Me: Who is this?
The message sent.
The moment it did, regret slammed into me.
What if replying made things worse?
What if this was exactly what they wanted?
I locked my phone and pressed it against my chest, my pulse loud in my ears. Seconds passed. Then minutes. Nothing happened.
I exhaled shakily and turned onto my side, facing the ceiling.
Maybe that was it. Maybe the silence meant they'd back off now that I'd confronted them. Maybe
My phone buzzed.
I nearly dropped it.
Mia stirred beside me, mumbling something in her sleep, but didn't wake. I held my breath and checked the screen.
Unknown Number: You shouldn't be awake.
A chill crawled up my spine.
That wasn't an answer.
That was a warning.
I swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the phone. My room suddenly felt smaller, the walls closing in. I glanced toward the window, half-expecting to see a shadow outside, someone standing where they shouldn't be.
There was nothing.
Still, the feeling didn't go away.
Me: You didn't answer my question.
The three dots appeared almost immediately.
My heart pounded.
Unknown Number: Questions make people careless.
I sat up slowly, pulling the blanket tighter around myself. This wasn't playful. This wasn't teasing. It felt… deliberate. Like every word had been chosen carefully, weighed before being sent.
Me: If you're trying to scare me, it's working.
I didn't know why I typed that. Maybe part of me hoped honesty would end this. Maybe I wanted to see how they'd react.
The reply took longer this time.
Long enough for my thoughts to spiral.
Finally
Unknown Number: That's not my intention.
That made my stomach twist.
If fear wasn't their intention… then what was?
I hesitated, then typed again.
Me: Then tell me who you are.
The typing indicator appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Unknown Number: Not yet.
My chest tightened. "Not yet" meant there would be a time. A future moment when they planned to reveal themselves on their terms.
I didn't like that.
Me: Why me?
This time, the pause was longer.
I waited, counting my breaths, listening to the quiet hum of the house. Somewhere down the hall, a door creaked as the air shifted. I flinched.
Then
Unknown Number: Because you're paying attention now.
My skin prickled.
Me: That doesn't make sense.
Unknown Number: It will.
I stared at the screen until my eyes burned. Whoever this was spoke like they knew things I didn't, like they were always a step ahead. The lack of emojis, the lack of slang everything about the way they typed felt controlled, almost cold.
And yet… familiar.
That thought scared me most of all.
I locked my phone and lay back down, forcing myself to close my eyes. Sleep came in fragments short, uneasy bursts filled with half-formed dreams and the feeling of being watched.
The next morning, I woke up tired.
Not the kind of tired that comes from staying up too late, but the kind that settles deep in your bones, making even small movements feel heavy. My phone was silent. No new messages.
That didn't comfort me.
At school, I stuck close to Mia. Closer than usual. We walked together, sat together, whispered between classes. I avoided eye contact with almost everyone else, my gaze fixed on the floor or my notebook.
"Aria," Mia murmured during our first class, "you're shaking."
"I'm fine," I whispered back.
She didn't look convinced, but she let it go.
Every vibration from my phone made my heart jump. Every laugh from behind me sounded like it might be about me. I kept wondering if the sender was somewhere in the building, watching me from across the classroom, the hallway, the cafeteria.
At lunch, I didn't go.
I told Mia I had a headache. It wasn't entirely a lie. She brought me a bottle of water and sat with me anyway, even though I knew she wanted to eat.
"You're really scared," she said quietly.
I nodded.
"I think someone's messing with me," I admitted. "On purpose."
Her jaw tightened. "Show me the messages."
I hesitated, then handed her my phone.
She read them carefully, her expression darkening with each line.
"This isn't funny," she said finally. "This isn't flirting. This is… unsettling."
"That's what I thought."
She looked at me. "Have you replied again?"
"Just once. I asked who it was."
"And?"
"They said 'not yet.'"
Mia cursed under her breath. "Great. Real comforting."
I managed a weak smile. "Right?"
The rest of the day passed slowly. Painfully. When the final bell rang, I felt relief flood through me but it was short-lived. Whatever this was didn't stop at the school gates.
It followed me home.
That evening, as I sat on my bed pretending to read, my phone buzzed again.
I didn't jump this time.
I picked it up, steadying my hands.
Unknown Number: You handled today well.
My breath caught.
They knew.
They knew I'd stayed quiet. They knew I'd avoided people. They knew I'd been scared.
Me: Are you watching me?
The reply came almost instantly.
Unknown Number: Not the way you think.
That didn't make me feel better.
Me: Then stop texting me.
There was a pause. Longer than before.
When the reply finally came, it was short.
Unknown Number: I can't.
My throat tightened.
Me: Why?
The three dots blinked. Then disappeared.
Minutes passed.
Finally
Unknown Number: Because things are already moving.
I stared at the words, my mind racing.
Moving toward what?
I didn't reply.
That night, I turned my phone face down and tried to sleep. But even with my eyes closed, I could still see the messages burned into my thoughts.
Things are already moving.
Whatever this was… it wasn't over.
And deep down, I knew
This was only the beginning.
---
The sun peeked through my curtains, soft golden rays spilling across my room. I sat on my bed, phone clutched in my hands, staring at the screen as if it might give me answers if I stared long enough. The messages from last night still lingered in my mind: "Good night, dream of me."
Mia had gone home early last night, and now I was alone with my thoughts and my fear.
For the past few days, I had been trying to stay calm, trying to pretend like it was nothing. But now, sitting here in the quiet morning, my thoughts kept circling one person.
Enzo.
Of all people.
It didn't make sense, yet it did. He had been around so much these past few days, offering to help with homework, walking me to class, making sure I was okay after the chaos at school. Everyone else seemed distant, but Enzo… he had a way of staying close without being noticed, of slipping into the background just enough to watch, just enough to know.
And he was smart. Too smart. Nerd-level smart. The kind of person who would know about private accounts, about tracking numbers, about leaving no trace. He had always seemed kind, innocent, helpful but now I wondered if that had been the mask all along.
I bit my lip, trying to push the thought away. No, don't assume things, Aria.
But it was hard. Every time I remembered the messages, every time I thought about the words typed so casually yet so unsettlingly, a shiver ran down my spine.
Could it really be him?
I replayed the past week in my mind, every small interaction, every time he had smiled at me, every time he had asked how I was doing after school. Everything seemed… too intentional. Too deliberate.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I jumped. My heart pounded in my chest. For a moment, I dared not look. Then, slowly, I glanced at it. Nothing. Just the usual notifications.
I exhaled shakily, pressing my palms to my face. I can't just accuse him. I need proof.
Mia would have told me the same thing if she were here. She always did. Calm, rational, protective. But she wasn't here, and I was left alone with my swirling thoughts.
I dressed quickly for school, avoiding mirrors as much as possible. My mind kept replaying every interaction I had with Enzo over the past week. Every kind word, every casual smile, every helpful gesture… and now I couldn't decide if they had been genuine or if they had all been part of some elaborate plan.
By the time I left for school, my stomach was a knot of anxiety and suspicion. Every step toward Kingsford Academy felt heavier than the last. I kept my head down, trying to avoid anyone noticing me especially Enzo.
But of course, he was there, waiting near the entrance.
"Good morning, Aria," he said, smiling brightly as he approached. "You okay?"
I froze for a moment. Of course, he's acting normal. My pulse quickened. Is he trying to be casual? Or is this part of it?
"I'm fine," I replied carefully, keeping my tone neutral. I didn't want to show him that I was suspicious or that I was scared.
"Great," he said, oblivious to or maybe deliberately ignoring the tension in my voice. "See you in class?"
I nodded, my eyes flicking away from his, and tried to focus on anything else: the neatly swept floors, the chatter of students, the faint smell of cafeteria food. But my thoughts kept returning to him.
He knows. He has to know.
And for the first time, I realized something terrifying: whoever was sending these messages wasn't just targeting me randomly. They were close enough to know my routines, my habits, even my fears.
And that made Enzo the perfect suspect.
I kept my distance, careful not to let him see my reaction, careful not to give away that I was already watching him back.
Mia had told me to stay calm, to not assume the worst—but deep down, I knew that this wasn't something I could ignore. I had to figure out who was behind the messages.
And for now, Enzo was at the top of my list.