The next day passed like any other — lectures, short conversations, and a quiet walk back to the PG.
But my mind wasn't quiet.
Last night kept replaying in my head. The footsteps. The whisper. The empty hallway.
I tried brushing it off. Maybe someone came in late. Maybe the sound echoed. Maybe I was just overthinking.
But that evening, something strange happened again.
It was around 6 PM. I had just come back from class and changed into my pajamas. A soft drizzle had started outside — again — and I was about to make myself a cup of tea.
That's when I noticed something on the floor.
A folded piece of paper. Just slightly slipped under my door.
I bent down and picked it up.
No name. No markings. Just one word written in rough, unfamiliar handwriting:
"Stay."
That was it.
No explanation. No context. Just that one word.
A chill ran down my spine.
I looked outside into the hallway. Empty. As always.
I locked the door, bolted it this time, and sat on the bed with the note in my hand.
Was it a warning? A message? From whom?
I checked my phone. No missed calls. No texts from Tanya. No PG group messages either. Nothing.
For a moment, I thought about going downstairs to ask the owner — but I stopped myself. What would I even say?
"Someone left me a creepy note. But I don't know who, when, or why."
I'd sound paranoid.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
The lights stayed on. My ears stayed sharp. Every creak and whisper of the wind made me alert.
I even thought about calling Papa.
But I didn't. I didn't want him to worry. I didn't want to sound scared. But I was.
Something wasn't right here.
The next morning, I slipped the note into my diary and tried to act normal.
At breakfast, I finally saw one of the girls who lived in the PG. She had a large backpack and a sleepy face.
I tried to strike up a conversation.
"Hey, do you usually stay at the library late?"
She looked at me, a bit surprised. "Yeah, I study there most nights. Why?"
"Oh, nothing," I smiled. "I just thought I heard someone in the hallway yesterday."
She nodded. "Wasn't me. I came back around midnight."
Midnight?
I heard the footsteps hours before that.
So who was walking outside my room?
And who left the note?
That evening, I taped a small sticky note to my door before leaving for class. It said:
"If you have something to say, say it properly."
It was part sarcasm, part challenge.
When I came back three hours later… the note was gone.
And in its place, a new one was stuck:
"Some things are better left quiet."