The bell rang, and the professor dismissed the class. Riya didn't pack her bag slowly. She moved with a purpose.
Across the room, the quiet boy gathered his charcoal sticks. He looked normal. Too normal. Riya slightly convinced he was the Watcher.
She waited by the exit. Her heart was a hammer against her ribs. he stepped into the hallway, she blocked him.
"I know it's you," she whispered. Her voice was sharp, a desperate edge to it.
The boy stopped. He blinked. "What?"
"The messages," she snapped, her phone clutched like a weapon in her hand. "The note you taped under my desk. I know you're the one behind the screen. Stop it."
The boy's brow furrowed. He didn't look guilty. He looked confused. "Riya? I... I don't even have your number."
Riya opened her mouth to snap back, but her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Don't accuse the wrong person again.
Then another message appears on Riya's phone.
Unknown Number: You embarrassed him.
Riya's blood turned to ice. She looked at the boy. He was just a student. A confused, slightly scared student.
"I... I'm sorry," she stammered.
She turned and bolted before he could respond. She felt the heat of embarrassment burning her cheeks.
___
Riya didn't stop running until she reached the end of the hallway. Her footsteps slowed, but her heart didn't. It pounded violently against her ribs as if it were trying to break free. She kept walking, faster than normal, her head lowered so no one would see her face.
You embarrassed him.
The message replayed in her mind.
He had seen it, the confrontation, the boy's confusion, her apology. Every second of it.
Which meant one thing.
He had been close enough to watch.
Riya forced herself to breathe slowly as she stepped outside the studio building.
The afternoon air felt cooler, but it didn't calm her nerves. Students moved across campus in small groups, talking, laughing, completely unaware of the storm building inside her head.
Riya started walking toward the main path. Her phone stayed silent.
No messages.
No teasing.
No commentary.
After everything that happened inside the studio, the silence felt wrong.
Almost deliberate.
Like he had said everything he wanted to say.
Her footsteps slowed.
Without realizing it, her eyes started checking things. The glass windows of the design building. The reflection showed students walking behind her, but no one was looking at her.
She kept moving.
A parked car sat near the curb ahead. The dark window reflected the sidewalk behind her. Riya glanced at it.
Just passing students. Nothing strange.
Still, the uneasy feeling wouldn't leave her chest. She walked faster.
Then, she heard them: footsteps behind her
One. Two. Three.
She stopped. The footsteps stopped. She turned, but the path was empty
"Don't be stupid, You're scaring yourself " she whispered to herself, forcing her feet to move. But as she passed a row of tall glass panels, her eyes flicked to the reflection one last time. Behind the usual crowd of students, a figure stood perfectly still near the corner of the building. Not walking. Not talking. Just watching.
She turned back, but the corner was vacant. Her pulse spiked. The silence of her phone finally made sense, he didn't need to message her. He was already there.
___
She reached the bus stop, her breath coming in short, jagged bursts. She boarded the bus and sat in the very back, scanning every face.
An old man. A group of laughing students. A woman on a call.
No one was looking at her.
Riya leaned her head against the cold window, trying to breathe. But she couldn't escape the memory. It kept replaying in her mind like a broken film—the confrontation in the hallway, the heat of embarrassment on her face, and the way she had publicly embarrassed that innocent boy.
Then, she thought of the text:
Don't accuse the wrong person again.
"That line bothers me the most," she whispered to herself. "It's not just that I was wrong. It's that he was there, hiding in the shadows, watching me fail. He didn't stop me. He just... enjoyed it."
___
Riya reaches her apartment building.
The familiar hallway finally slows her racing thoughts. She unlocks her door. Steps inside. Locks it immediately.
She leaned her back against the door, gasping for air. Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs.
She was home. He couldn't get in here.
She dropped her bag on the floor and walked to the kitchen. She drank a glass of water in one go, her hands still trembling.
The studio felt like a fever dream now. The notes. The hidden paper under the desk.
"It's just a game," she whispered to the empty room. "An architecture student with too much time and a creepy hobby."
She walked to her window and pulled the curtains shut. She didn't see the dark figure standing across the street. She didn't see the flash of a camera lens.
Riya sat on her bed and opened her laptop. She needed to work. She needed to feel normal.
Her phone stayed silent. No pings. No vibrations.
By midnight, the silence started to feel like a gift. Maybe he was finished for the night. Maybe he only played his games at the university.
She changed into her pajamas and turned off the lights.
Riya climbed into bed, pulling the duvet up to her chin. For the first time in hours, her muscles relaxed.
"You're safe," she told herself.
But then, her eyes drift to her bag on the floor.
The trap.
The note she wrote earlier.
The one she planted to see if someone would take it.
She suddenly sits up.
Her stomach tightens.
Riya reaches into the bag front pocket,the one where she had put her own "I am here" note.
Her fingers searched. Once. Twice. Nothing.
The note is gone.
Her heart starts pounding again.
She empties the pocket.
Pens.
Keys.
A charger.
Her water bottle.
But not the note.
Her heart started pounding again. The trap had worked, but not the way she wanted.
2:17 AM.
Her phone buzzed on the bed. She grabbed it instantly.
Unknown Number: You left a note for me.
Her breath caught.
Another message appeared.
Unknown Number: I left a gift for you.
Riya's fingers trembled as third message registered with a heavy, rhythmic vibration that felt like a lock clicking shut inside her own mind.
Unknown Number: Check your left pocket. The one on your coat.