Chapter Eleven: The Perfect Morning?
649 Words
Morning sunlight spilled through the thin curtains, painting golden lines across Amy’s sheets. For the first time in weeks, she actually slept through the night. No nightmares. No jolting awake, reaching for someone who wasn’t there.
The coffee machine hissed in the kitchen. The soft sound of normalcy. She liked that. Quiet, routine, peace — things she used to take for granted.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. Group chat blowing up. Work notifications. A random number she didn’t recognize — she ignored it. She told herself she was done entertaining ghosts.
She tied her hair back, glanced at her reflection. “New day,” she whispered. “Fresh start.”
And she meant it.
Still… something in her chest tightened when she opened the blinds. The street looked calm, the same as always. But it felt different. Off. Like the world was holding its breath for her to notice something she couldn’t quite see.
She shook it off, grabbing her keys.
It was just a feeling.
At least that’s what she told herself.
morning went by in a blur of soft routines. Coffee. Music humming low from her phone. A quick scroll through messages she didn’t really read. Amy liked to keep moving — motion felt safer than silence.
She threw on her jacket, locked the door behind her, and stepped out into the kind of crisp air that almost stung. The city was already awake: cars weaving through traffic, the faint sound of a street musician down the block, someone arguing over a parking spot. Just noise — harmless, human noise.
At the café near her office, the barista smiled. “Same as usual, Amy?”
She nodded, smiling back. “Yeah. Make it extra strong today.”
He laughed. “Rough morning?”
“Just… catching up on life.”
The warmth of the cup in her hands grounded her, the smell of roasted beans filling her lungs. She stood by the window, people-watching. She used to do this all the time — picking stories out of strangers’ faces. It made her feel connected, in a quiet way.
Then, as she lifted her cup, her gaze caught on a man standing across the street. Not facing her directly — but still. His posture, the way his head tilted ever so slightly, like he was listening to something only he could hear.
She blinked. Looked away. When she looked back, he was gone.
A chill crept up her spine.
“Get it together,” she muttered, forcing a laugh at herself. “You’re fine.”
She sipped her coffee, pretending her pulse wasn’t racing.
At work, everything felt louder than usual — the ringing phones, the printer’s hum, even her coworkers’ laughter. She answered emails, sat through meetings, made small talk, but her focus slipped again and again. Her mind drifted to that corner outside the café.
Maybe she’d imagined him. Maybe she wanted to.
By the time her lunch break rolled around, she decided to walk instead of sit in the breakroom. She needed air.
The park was nearly empty, save for a few joggers and an old man feeding pigeons. Amy sat on a bench and let her shoulders drop, the tension finally catching up to her.
A breeze brushed past — soft, but cold enough to raise goosebumps. Her phone buzzed again in her pocket. She glanced down.
Unknown Number: “You still like the park, huh?”
Her heart stopped.
She looked around, scanning faces, shadows, movement. Nothing stood out. Just the same quiet scene.
The message blinked back at her, a single read receipt confirming someone was watching.
She didn’t reply. Didn’t move. Just sat there, gripping her phone until her knuckles whitened.
The calm she’d built all morning cracked — quiet but deep.
Because whoever it was…
knew her.
And that chill she’d been trying to shake?
It wasn’t going anywhere.
- Writer
