Until you're mine

The First Encourage

It was past midnight by the time I made it home. The hospital parking lot had been nearly empty when I left, the streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement. My car had felt colder than usual when I slid into the driver’s seat, and I’d spent the entire drive back checking my rearview mirror, scanning the headlights that followed.

Just another driver. I told myself that.

Now, standing in front of my apartment door, I hesitated. My fingers tightened around my keys. The hallway was silent. Too silent.

I turned the key in the lock and stepped inside. The moment the door clicked shut behind me, the silence in the apartment swallowed me whole.

I exhaled. It was fine. I was fine.

Dropping my bag onto the kitchen counter, I ran a hand through my hair and made my way to the bedroom. The exhaustion settled deep in my bones, but as I reached for the lamp on my nightstand, something made me pause.

The window.

It was open. Just a crack.

My breath caught in my throat. Had I left it open this morning? No. I never left my windows open. I lived on the fifth floor—who would even try to climb up here?

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. Slowly, cautiously, I stepped toward the window and pushed it shut, locking it securely. My fingers lingered on the glass, my reflection staring back at me, pale and unnerved.

A noise.

A shuffle from somewhere in the apartment.

I turned sharply, my pulse spiking. My apartment wasn’t big—just a small kitchen, a narrow hallway leading to the bathroom, and my bedroom. There wasn’t much space to hide.

"Hello?" My voice sounded weaker than I intended.

Silence.

I stepped into the hallway, flipping on the light. Nothing. The bathroom door stood slightly ajar, the mirror inside reflecting the dim glow of the hallway. I reached for the door and pushed it open fully.

Empty.

I let out a slow, shaky breath.

I was being paranoid. Again.

Shaking my head, I turned back toward my bedroom—

And stopped.

A single red rose sat on my nightstand.

My blood ran cold.

I hadn’t put it there.

My chest tightened as I stared at the rose, its petals deep red, velvety against the pale wood of my nightstand. My mind scrambled for an explanation—something rational, something normal.

But there was nothing normal about this.

My fingers trembled as I reached for it, hesitating just before touching the delicate petals. That’s when I saw it.

A small, folded note tucked beneath the stem.

Slowly, I picked it up, the paper crisp, the handwriting neat—almost too precise.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?

Did you think I’d let you slip away?

You belong to me, Neha.

And soon… you’ll see it too.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

The letters were written in deep black ink, the strokes deliberate, controlled. My breath came shallow as I read it again, my mind refusing to process what was right in front of me.

Someone had been here. In my apartment.

I whipped around, scanning the small space as if expecting to find someone lurking in the shadows. But the apartment was silent. The door was still locked.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I wasn’t losing my mind. This was real.

A presence. A shadow. A stranger who had been watching, waiting.

And now, they were closer than ever.

My fingers tightened around the note, my pulse racing as I grabbed my phone. The screen glowed in the dim light, my recent contacts flashing before me.

I hesitated. Who could I even call?

I barely had a personal life, let alone close friends I confided in. But there was one person—someone who had been there for me before.

I scrolled down and pressed the name. The phone rang once, twice. Then—

“Neha?” a groggy voice answered.

I exhaled, realizing how tightly I’d been gripping the phone. “Aarav, I—” My voice faltered. I didn’t even know how to explain this.

Aarav was one of the few people I still kept in touch with. A fellow doctor, though in neurology, not cardiac. We’d met during residency, bonded over sleepless nights and shared frustrations. While most friendships had faded over the years, he was one of the rare ones who had stayed.

“Neha, what’s wrong?” His voice sharpened, suddenly alert.

I swallowed hard, staring at the rose, at the note still clutched in my fingers. “Someone was in my apartment.”

A pause. “What?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady myself. “I came home, and—” I took a shaky breath. “There was a rose on my nightstand. And a note.”

Aarav cursed under his breath. “Are you serious? How did they get in?”

“I don’t know.” My gaze darted to the window, the locked door. “Nothing was broken. No sign of forced entry. But Aarav… they knew my name.”

The silence on the other end was heavy.

“Send me a picture of the note,” he finally said. “I’m coming over.”

I opened my mouth to argue—to insist I was fine—but the words never came.

Because deep down, I knew I wasn’t fine.

And whoever had left that message… they weren’t done with me yet.