It was 1:17 a.m.
My phone lit up in the darkness, showing a name that made my blood run cold.
Ayaan.
The problem was…
Ayaan had been dead for three years.
My hands trembled as I picked up the phone. A message appeared:
"You're still alive. So read this carefully."
My breath stopped.
I had personally deleted this number the night the police found Ayaan's body near the railway tracks.
I typed back:
"Who are you?"
The reply came instantly.
"Someone who wants you to know the truth."
Memories rushed back like a storm.
That night, Ayaan had called me to meet him.
I didn't go.
The next morning, he was dead.
Anger flooded my fingers as I typed:
"Ayaan is dead."
Three dots appeared.
Then the reply came.
"No. Ayaan was murdered."
My phone almost slipped from my hand.
"And you're next."
My heart started pounding.
I opened my phone's location tracker.
Live location: ON.
The location shown on the screen made my blood freeze.
My apartment building.
Suddenly, I heard the sound of the elevator.
Ding.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside my flat.
A final message appeared on my screen:
"Don't open the door.
Because whoever is standing outside…
isn't me."
The door handle slowly began to turn.
To Be Continued…