The next morning was no different from any other. Aria's alarm hummed at six, dragging her out of a soft dream. She moved through her routine on autopilot—shower, uniform, coffee—yet a heaviness clung to her thoughts. Nothing she could name, just the faint sense that something was a step out of rhythm.
By the time she left the house, the sun had barely started climbing the sky. The street was quiet, still wrapped in dawn's cool breath. Aria tugged her cardigan closer and slipped her earphones in, letting a playlist carry her to school.
But halfway down the block, she caught herself glancing back.
The road was empty. Completely still. No footsteps, no cars, just the whisper of wind brushing the trees.
She frowned. For a heartbeat, she could've sworn she wasn't alone.
Shaking it off, she kept walking, telling herself it was nothing—maybe the echo of her own steps, maybe her imagination running ahead of her.
School was no different: crowded hallways, chatter in the air, the squeak of sneakers on tile. Everything should have felt normal. But when Aria opened her locker, her books shifted strangely. A folded piece of paper sat on top of them.
She froze.
She never left notes in there.
Slowly, she unfolded it, half-expecting a friend's doodle or some leftover scrap from last semester. Instead, all she found was a single line:
"You looked back today."
Her pulse skipped.
Aria crumpled the note, shoving it into her pocket before anyone could notice. Probably a prank. That had to be it. Someone had seen her glance over her shoulder on the way to school and decided to mess with her.
Still, she couldn't stop her eyes from scanning the faces around her—classmates laughing, lockers slamming, friends gossiping. None of them looked suspicious.
The rest of the day crawled by. She forced herself through lessons, but her mind kept circling back to that note.
By the time she left school, the unease had settled into her chest like a stone. She took her usual route home, trying to walk faster than the weight of her thoughts.
And again, halfway down the block, she felt it—the undeniable prickle of being watched.
When she turned, the street was empty.
Her breath caught.
For the first time, Aria wondered if maybe it wasn't just her imagination.
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