Julian's question hung between us longer than it should have.
Which do you want me to be?
I stared at him, then laughed, because of course I did. It came out wrong, a little too loud, the kind of laugh that says I don't know what to do with this but I refuse to panic in public.
"That's a terrible question," I said.
He smiled faintly. "I specialize in those."
"You're basically asking me to pick your personality," I added. "That feels like false advertising."
"I'm flexible," he said. "I contain multitudes."
"Do you contain reliability?" I asked.
He pretended to think. "On weekdays. Weekends are negotiable."
There it was. That familiar rhythm. The way we circled things instead of lunging straight at them. My chest loosened just a little.
We started walking again, slower this time, neither of us in a hurry to end the conversation or pretend it hadn't happened.
"I don't want you to disappear," I said finally. "But I also don't want to be the reason you stay out of obligation."
He glanced sideways at me. "That's fair."
"And I don't want to compete with someone I've never met," I added. "Especially not via cryptic text messages like I'm in a low-budget thriller."
He snorted. "You'd be great in a thriller."
"I'd trip in the first five minutes," I said. "And then everyone would feel bad."
"I'd avenge you," he said solemnly.
I bumped his shoulder. "That's not comforting."
We reached my building too quickly. I stopped just before the door, suddenly aware of how quiet it was, how normal everything looked compared to the way my head felt.
"So," Julian said, hands in his pockets. "What now?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. "But I'm not answering anonymous messages tonight. That feels like a win."
"That is a win," he agreed. "Small victories count."
I hesitated, then said, "You're not coming up."
"I didn't ask," he said gently.
"I know. I just wanted to say it out loud before it turned into an awkward pause."
He smiled. "Thank you for your transparency."
I rolled my eyes. "Don't get used to it."
We stood there a moment longer, the air between us heavy but not uncomfortable, like something important had been acknowledged even if it hadn't been solved.
"Text me when you're inside," he said.
"That sounds like something a concerned adult would say."
"I am very mature," he replied. "I own a real couch."
I laughed again, softer this time. "Good night, Julian."
"Good night," he said. Then, after a beat, "And for what it's worth, I don't disappear anymore."
I paused, hand on the door.
"That wasn't the answer you were supposed to give," I said.
"No," he agreed. "But it's the honest one."
I went inside without replying, my heart doing that annoying, uneven thing it does when something lands deeper than expected.
Upstairs, I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag, and stared at my phone like it might betray me if I looked away.
Nothing.
I exhaled, changed into an oversized shirt, and curled up on the couch, telling myself I wasn't waiting for anything.
Ten minutes passed.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I didn't open it right away. I just stared at the screen, thinking about Julian's question, his half-smile, the way humor had carried us through something that could have gone very wrong.
Finally, I unlocked the phone.
Unknown number: You think laughing makes you safe.
I frowned.
Me: I think laughing means I'm not scared.
The reply came almost instantly.
Unknown number: That's what he wants you to believe.
My chest tightened, irritation flaring stronger than fear.
Me: You don't know him.
Unknown number: I know how this ends.
I stared at the words, pulse steady but alert now, like something in me had shifted from confusion to challenge.
Me: Then stop hinting and say it.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Then nothing.
I tossed the phone onto the cushion beside me and laughed quietly to myself, the sound sharp and a little defiant.
"Coward," I muttered, not entirely sure who I meant.
A moment later, my phone buzzed again. This time, a different name lit up the screen.
Julian: You inside?
I smiled despite everything.
Me: Yes. Alive. Unhaunted. For now.
Julian: Proud of you.
Me: Don't be. I might spiral tomorrow.
Julian: I'll pencil it in.
I set the phone down, the weight in my chest settling into something else. Not certainty. Not romance.
Just the strange, steady awareness that whatever was trying to unsettle me had underestimated one important thing.
I wasn't alone in this.
And whoever was watching had just made it personal.