The evening air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of blooming jasmine from the nearby gardens. I held Jojo's leash tightly, glancing down at him every few steps. His small, trembling paws made soft taps against the pavement, and though he trotted happily beside me, tail wagging, the occasional whine reminded me that he wasn't feeling well these past few days.
I had been so wrapped up in college assignments that I hadn't been able to care for him properly. Even as I studied late into the night, Jojo would nudge my arm, whining softly, begging for attention I didn't have time to give. I hated myself for it, the way I had let my responsibilities come before him, but today, finally, I had taken him to the vet.
Dr. Justin, my high school senior and now a veterinarian, had assured me that Jojo would be fine for a few days. "He just needs rest and some medicine," he had said with a reassuring smile. I trusted him completely, though a small knot of worry lingered in my chest, tight and insistent. Every now and then, Jojo would tilt his head at me with those big, trusting eyes, and I would find myself apologizing softly, brushing a hand along his fur. "I'll make it up to you, buddy," I whispered, almost more to myself than to him.
The street was quiet, bathed in the fading glow of streetlights. Shadows stretched long across the pavement, and the rustle of leaves in the evening breeze was the only sound accompanying our steps. Still, I felt it, a sudden prickle of unease crawling up my spine, like invisible eyes tracing my movements.
I stopped, twisting around to scan the empty street behind me. Nothing. Just the faint shimmer of light reflecting off the wet asphalt from a brief afternoon shower. I exhaled slowly, shaking my head. 'You're just tired, I muttered, tugging Jojo gently to keep moving.'
But the feeling lingered, refusing to leave. Each step seemed heavier than the last, weighed down not by my body but by the quiet insistence that something was off. My fingers dug into Jojo's leash, nails pressing into the leather as I quickened my pace. Jojo, sensing my tension, padded along quietly, glancing up at me occasionally, whine-soft and cautious.
A soft buzz in my pocket startled me. I pulled out my phone, expecting another birthday reminder or a chat from my friends.
Message
" Hey Venisa! What's the plan for this year?" - Suzanne
I smiled faintly, though it didn't reach my eyes. My birthday was in 2 days, and my friends had been asking me about it endlessly, hoping for a reunion. But it wasn't possible this year, not with everything going on, not when my life felt like it was spinning slightly out of control.
I hesitated, then opened the chat with one particular person, my boyfriend. The last message I had sent him months ago still sat unread. I didn't know where he was or why he had stopped contacting me. After years together, after countless calls, texts, and shared memories, the sudden silence stung worse than I expected. My thumb hovered over the screen, tempted to type something, anything, but the words refused to come.
Memories flooded me, uninvited. The way he laughed when I tried to cook, the way he tucked stray hair behind my ear, the way we would stay up late, talking about dreams we weren't even sure we would reach. And now? Nothing. An absence so loud it made my chest ache. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look at Jojo. His small brown eyes met mine, full of innocence and trust, and I felt a stab of guilt. 'I haven't been here for you either' I whispered.
Jojo whined again, nudging my hand. I bent down to scratch behind his ears, feeling the softness of his fur against my fingers. "Sorry, buddy," I murmured. "I promise I'll make sure you're okay."
Suddenly, Jojo's barking shattered the quiet around us. It was sharp and frantic, not the playful woof he gave to birds or passing cars, but a deep, warning growl that rumbled from his tiny chest. The sound made my heart jolt. I froze for a second before slowly turning around, my eyes scanning the dimly lit street behind me. There was no one there. No footsteps, no shadow slipping out of sight, nothing but stillness and the long stretch of pavement reflecting the pale glow of the streetlights.
Before I could convince myself it was nothing, the lights above us began to flicker. The bulbs buzzed faintly, flashing in uneven intervals that sent splinters of light and shadow across the road. The sudden change caught my attention immediately, my gaze drifting upward as a chill crawled through my chest. It didn't feel like a harmless electrical glitch, it felt intentional somehow, like the world around me was reacting to something unseen. A strange heaviness gathered in my lungs, making it harder to breathe evenly.
Jojo didn't stop. He kept barking in the same direction, his body tensed, fur slightly raised along his back. His small paws dug into the ground as if he wanted to lunge forward, but the leash held him close to me. The aggression in his bark was unsettling, he wasn't just scared, he was warning. I crouched down beside him and placed my hand gently on his head, my fingers brushing between his ears in an attempt to soothe him, though my own heartbeat thudded uneasily against my ribs.
"There's no one, Jojo. Let's go," I whispered, but the words came out thin and unconvincing, more like I was trying to reassure myself than him. Even as I said it, my eyes darted around again, searching the shadows for movement, listening for footsteps, breathing, anything. The silence felt too thick, like it was holding its breath along with me.
A tight, invisible pressure settled between my shoulder blades, that familiar spine-prickling sensation that someone's eyes were on me. My fingers curled tighter around the leash without realizing it. Every instinct I had screamed that we were not alone, no matter how empty the street looked.
And yet… there was nothing I could see. Just the flickering lights, the restless wind, and Jojo's growls cutting through the quiet like a warning I didn't want to understand.
The shadows stretched longer, the streetlights flickering as if in rhythm with my unease. I tried to shake the paranoia, telling myself it was nothing, just the remnants of stress and fatigue. But the feeling of being watched persisted, a shadow clinging to the edges of my awareness.
We turned a corner, and the familiar sight of our home came into view. The soft glow from the windows, the neatly trimmed hedges, the welcoming door, it was supposed to make me feel safe. But even here, my heart didn't calm completely. The quiet seemed too heavy, too deliberate, like the world had paused for a reason I couldn't yet understand.
Before unlocking the door, I paused with the key hovering just above the lock. Something in me refused to move until I checked one last time. Slowly, I turned my head and glanced over my shoulder, my eyes sweeping across the street behind me. The silence felt stretched, like a held breath, and for a moment I couldn't hear anything but the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears.
I searched every shadow, the space between the hedges across the road, the dark corners near the lamppost, the stretch of sidewalk disappearing into the curve of the street. My mind kept whispering that I was being irrational, that the uneasiness was just a leftover from stress and overthinking. But my body didn't believe it. My fingers were still clenched around the key, and my pulse hadn't slowed.
Finally, when my gaze reached the end of the block and found nothing, no figure lurking, no flicker of movement, not even the sound of distant footsteps, I let out a slow breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The street was empty. Quiet. Still. Just a normal night.
A shaky sigh of relief slipped past my lips, and I tried to convince myself that I really was just being paranoid, letting shadows and silence get to me. The logical part of my brain wanted to move on, to unlock the door and step inside like nothing had happened. But another part, quieter, deeper, still felt watched, even without proof.
I pushed the thought down, forcing my shoulders to relax as best I could, and reached for the door again, pretending the emptiness behind me meant safety.
Inside, I set Jojo's basket by the radiator, watching as he curled into it, finally letting out a deep, tired sigh. I leaned against the doorway, phone still in hand, and let the weight of the evening press down on me. The streets were empty. The world outside was calm. But inside, the silence was deafening, filled with everything I hadn't said and everything I couldn't control.
I sank into the couch, staring at the ceiling as memories of him played in my mind. Fragments of happier times mingled with the ache of absence, and each one pulled at my chest like a stormy tide. I remembered how he would hold me on rainy nights, telling me stories to distract me from my worries, and how we would plan trips we never got to take.
My phone buzzed again, and I jumped slightly. It was just a notification about a delivery, nothing more. Still, my nerves felt raw, exposed. I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. The world seemed too quiet, too still. Even Jojo, curled up in his basket, occasionally twitched as he dreamed, and that tiny sound made the silence feel heavier.
I thought about the days ahead, my birthday, my assignments, my life slowly threading itself into monotony. And somewhere, in the far corners of my mind, a stubborn hope lingered. Maybe he would reach out. Maybe everything wasn't as broken as it felt.
But deep down, I knew life rarely offered such clear answers. Some silences weren't meant to be broken, but that didn't make them any less painful.
I tried to distract myself the only way I knew how, by thinking about him. About the boyfriend who hadn't called, hadn't texted, hadn't left so much as a seen notification in months. It wasn't that remembering him brought comfort, if anything, it hurt, but focusing on that pain felt safer than acknowledging the other feeling creeping under my skin.
Even within the walls of my own home, I couldn't shake it, the quiet, suffocating certainty that someone, or something, was still watching me. The lights were on, the doors were locked, Jojo was curled up nearby, yet my nerves wouldn't settle. Every soft creak of the floor, every shift in the shadows made my body tense like I was bracing for something I couldn't name. So I forced my mind elsewhere. I replayed old conversations, imagined reasons for his silence, convinced myself he'd reach out eventually. I used the ache he left behind like a shield, something familiar to cling to so I didn't have to face the unfamiliar dread curling inside my chest.
But no matter how hard I tried to fill my thoughts with him, that cold, invisible presence lingered, like eyes pressed against the back of my mind, refusing to blink.
My phone buzzed again, the sudden vibration slicing through the silence so sharply that I flinched, my breath catching in my throat. For a split second, I just stared at the screen as it lit up in my hand, my pulse thudding faster than it should've. I wasn't expecting anyone to text me this late, and after everything that happened outside, even the smallest noise felt like a jolt to my nerves.
I unlocked the phone and glanced at the notification.
It was from my neighbor, Preeti.
Preeti had moved into the house next to mine about two and a half years ago for her studies. She's Indian, quiet by nature, a bit conservative in the way she dressed and carried herself, but she had a warmth that made you feel comfortable around her. She wasn't someone who spoke much to strangers, yet somehow she and I had formed an easy connection over time. Maybe it was because she always brought me food, homemade curries, biryani, paneer dishes, things cooked with spices that filled the hallway before she even knocked. I had once joked that if she ever moved away, I'd starve without her cooking. She laughed and said I was just greedy, but after that, she always sent over a plate whenever she made something.
Seeing her name on my screen should've been reassuring.
But the message she sent made my heart stop.
"Venisa, I saw a guy standing in front of your door. Are you home? He's been standing for quite a long time, maybe waiting for you to open the door for him. Should I go and tell him you are not at home?" - Preeti
For a moment, I just stared at the text, unable to process it fully. A cold rush of fear slid through my veins as her words replayed in my mind. Someone had been standing outside my door. Just standing there. Waiting. Not ringing the bell or knocking on the door.
My first instinct wasn't to reply, but to turn slowly toward the entrance, as if I expected to hear a knock at any moment. The quiet of the apartment suddenly felt hostile, like the walls themselves were listening.
The uneasiness I'd been trying so hard to dismiss came roaring back, heavier and sharper this time. I wasn't imagining it. Someone really was there.
And the worst part?
I had no idea who.
To be continued