I don't remember falling asleep.
That's the first thing I notice.
One moment, I was staring at the darkness, my heart racing, forcing my eyes shut as if sleep was something I could command.
And now—
My eyes are open.
The room looks the same. The shadows are still heavy in the corners. The air still feels slightly colder than it should.
But something is different.
The red glow of my clock catches my attention.
4:00 a.m.
Exactly.
I blink slowly.
How did I sleep?
I don't remember drifting off. I don't remember my thoughts fading. I don't remember the fear leaving.It feels like someone pressed pause on my mind and then suddenly pressed play again.
My body feels stiff, like I haven't moved in hours. My throat is dry. My blanket is twisted around my legs.
Did I dream?
I try to remember.
There should be something. A flash. A sound. A fragment of an image.
But there's nothing.
Just emptiness between 2:17 and 4:00.
That shouldn't bother me.
People fall asleep without realizing it all the time.
Right?
I turn slightly, staring at the outline of my bedroom door.
Closed.
Still.
Silent.
The hallway light is off.
Everything looks normal.
Which almost makes it worse.
Because it feels like something happened.And I just don't know what.I swallow and sit up slightly, listening.
The house is quiet again.
Not the heavy silence from before.
Just ordinary quiet.
I press my hand against my chest.
My heartbeat is slower now.
Calmer.
Maybe I really was overthinking.
Maybe exhaustion finally won.
Maybe there was never anything outside my door.
I let out a shaky breath.
It's only 4 a.m.
I still have time to sleep before school.
If I don't sleep, I'll look exhausted. People will ask questions. I don't have the energy to explain that I was scared of nothing.
And I still have to deal with Mira.
The thought of her missing desk creeps back into my mind.
I reach for my phone.
No notifications.
No messages.
Still nothing.
The unease returns quietly.
I set the phone back down.
Just sleep.
Please.
I lie back slowly, adjusting the pillow beneath my head.
Close your eyes.
It was nothing.
You imagined it.
The house made noises.
That's all.
I squeeze my eyes shut again, trying to sink into the mattress.
Trying to ignore the faint feeling—
That I wasn't alone earlier.
Trying to ignore the strange emptiness between 2:17 and 4:00.
Trying to ignore the quiet thought forming at the back of my mind:
What if something happened while I was asleep?
My breathing steadies.
Slow.
Controlled.
The silence settles around me again.
This time, it doesn't feel heavy.
Just quiet.
Ordinary.
My breathing evens out slowly, and without realizing it, my thoughts begin to blur. The fear that had been gripping my chest loosens its hold, fading into something distant and shapeless.
I tell myself it was nothing.
Just exhaustion.
Just imagination.
Just a mind that thinks too much.
And then—
Darkness swallows everything.
-------------------------------------------------------------->>>
"Rhea."
The voice feels far away.
Soft.
Like it's coming from underwater.
"Rhea, wake up. It's time for school."
My eyes snap open.
Bright light floods my room, harsh and unfamiliar after the night's shadows. For a second, I don't recognize where I am. My ceiling looks different in the daylight. The corners that once held darkness now look harmless. Almost innocent.
My mom stands near the door, her hand still resting on the frame.
"I've called you twice already," she says. "You're going to be late."
Late?
My heart jolts.
I sit up too quickly, and the room spins slightly. My head feels heavy, like I've been pulled from something deeper than sleep.
Did I dream?
I glance at the clock.
7:18 a.m.
I don't remember falling asleep.
I don't remember the night ending.
There's a strange blank space in my memory, like someone erased the final minutes before everything went dark.
"Rhea?" Mom raises an eyebrow. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I say quickly. Too quickly. "I'm fine."
That word again.
Fine.
She nods and leaves, and the door closes behind her.
I sit there for a few seconds longer, trying to piece things together.
The hallway.
The sounds.
The feeling that someone was outside my door.
It all feels distant now. Unreal.
Like something I imagined because I was too tired and too worried about Mira.
Mira.
The thought wakes me up completely.
Maybe she'll be there today.
Maybe she'll walk into class like nothing happened.
Maybe she'll laugh and tell me her phone died.
Maybe I've been overreacting.
I throw the blanket off and rush to get ready.
Everything feels slightly off.
My movements are too fast. Too mechanical. I brush my teeth without really tasting the toothpaste. I pull on my uniform without remembering choosing it. I almost drop my hairbrush twice because my hands feel shaky.
Why do I still feel uneasy?
If it was just a dream, why does my chest still feel tight?
I grab my phone.
No new messages.
Still nothing from Mira.
The silence from her feels louder in the morning.
I shove the phone into my bag, trying to ignore the twisting feeling in my stomach.
Please be there today.
Please.
I don't know what scares me more—
That she might not be.
Or that she will be… and something about her will be different.
And somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, another thought lingers quietly.
What did last night really mean?
The question followed me all the way to school.
I barely remember the walk. My legs moved on their own, faster than usual, as if I were running toward an answer I was scared to hear. The morning air felt cool against my skin, but I didn't notice it much. My mind was louder than everything around me.
Every possibility replayed in my head, one after another. I tried to hold onto the normal explanations. The safe ones. The ones that didn't twist my stomach into knots.
But the memory of last night still lingered faintly behind my thoughts, like a shadow that refused to disappear in daylight.
The hallway.
The silence.
The fear.
I shook my head slightly.
Stop.
It was nothing.
It had to be nothing.
By the time I reached the school gates, my heartbeat had quickened again. Students were gathered in small groups, laughing, scrolling through their phones, complaining about assignments. Everything looked ordinary.
Too ordinary.
I scanned the crowd automatically.
No sign of her.
It's fine. She could already be in class.
I climbed the stairs quickly, almost skipping steps. My palms felt slightly sweaty, and I didn't even know why. I kept telling myself it was stupid to be this anxious.
But what if she isn't there again?
I reached our classroom door.
For a second, I hesitated.
I don't know why.
Maybe I was preparing myself for disappointment.
Maybe I was afraid the empty desk would be waiting for me again.
Slowly, I stepped closer and looked through the glass panel of the door.
....