Cherry blossoms drifted across the garden as I sat at the table, the soft air brushing against my face. Nature's perfume lingered in my hair, strands falling gently across my cheeks. Music played in my headphones, wrapping me in calm.
Then — my mother's voice shattered the silence. She called my name, sharp and urgent, her tone echoing like a bang in the distance. I smiled, thinking she was happy to see me home.
But when I turned, everything was dark. The garden was gone. The table was gone. Nothing surrounded me but emptiness.
That night, I asked her, "Did you call me this morning?" She looked at me strangely. "No."
The flame of fear flickered inside me. Because in the darkness, I had seen something behind me. A shadow. Watching. Waiting