The Watcher
1076 Words
The wind outside howled like a living thing. It pressed against the windows of my apartment, a low, relentless groan that echoed through the narrow Oslo streets and into my bones. The kind of cold that wasn't just weather--it was atmospheric. Psychological. Norway's winter didn't just chill skin-it wore you down, scraped at your edges until you splintered.
And tonight, I felt splintered.
Sleep had eluded me. Every creak in the floorboards, every shift in the shadows, every gust of wind outside made my body tense. I kept the lamp on, the hallway light too, and even left the bathroom door cracked, the faint hum of the fan acting as some form of white noise comfort.
But none of it helped.
I couldn't stop looking at the window.
The one I knew I hadn't left open.
And I couldn't stop thinking about the rose. The note.
The messages.
You shouldn't have called him.
This is between us.
Don't get him involved, Neha.
I could still feel the words like fingerprints pressed against my throat.
I checked every lock twice. Then three times. I slid a chair under the doorknob. Even considered stacking pans by the entry like a makeshift alarm system.
Ridiculous, maybe. But necessary.
I moved through my apartment on autopilot. Turned the kettle on. Didn't even want tea. I just wanted something normal. Something human. Something mine.
But nothing felt like mine anymore.
When I passed the mirror in the hallway, I caught my reflection and paused. There was something... off about it. The woman staring back at me looked exhausted, haunted. My hair was tied back hastily, my cheeks pale, and my eyes-
They looked afraid.
"You belong to me, Neha"
I flinched as the note replayed in my mind, words wrapping around my ribs like barbed wire.
It was almost morning when I finally dressed and forced myself outside. The air hit like a slap-sharp, freezing, clean. Oslo was quiet at this hour. People weren't rushing yet. It was just the occasional tram, and the sound of my boots crunching in thin ice.
I took the long route to the hospital. Past the bookstore I liked. Past the café with the too-strong coffee and the moody barista. I kept telling myself it was to clear my head. But that was a lie.
I was looking.
Scanning every face.
Every alley.
Every reflection.
That creeping sensation again-eyes on my back. But each time I turned around, there was no one. Just empty streets and steam rising from metal grates.
Was I losing it?
I thought about telling Aarav more. But he'd worry. He'd act. And that text... that text had been a warning.
Whoever he was... he didn't want interference.
I made it through my shift, but barely. I sutured, diagnosed, operated like a ghost. My hands moved with memory, not focus. I was somewhere else.
I didn't realize anything was wrong until I got back to my locker.
And found the glove. Not mine. Not hospital-issued.
Black leather. Elegant. Slightly creased, like it had been worn.
Sitting perfectly atop my folded scrubs. My heart stuttered.
Then it stopped.
I reached out slowly, almost afraid it would vanish like a hallucination. But no. It was real. Cold to the touch.
And tucked inside the wrist-A white card.
No words. Just an imprint of lips. A kiss. Deep red. Like blood on snow.
I dropped it. Stepped back. Slammed my locker shut so hard the metal echoed like gunfire.
I didn't go home. I couldn't. Instead, I went to the café. Sat at the far corner, back to the wall, facing the door like I was in some gangster movie.
The waiter asked if I was alright. I nodded and ordered something hot just for the heat on my skin.
The bell above the café door chimed three times while I sat there.
Each time, I looked up.
Each time, it wasn't him.
But how would I know?
He could be anyone.
He could already be inside.
"Neha."
I nearly spilled my coffee.
I turned. Aarav stood beside my table, his brows drawn, concern written across every line of his face.
"I tracked your phone. You weren't answering." I wanted to be annoyed-but relief beat me to it.
"I didn't want to go home," I admitted.
He sat across from me. "Tell me everything."
I did. The glove. The card. The paranoia. He didn't even blink. "We're going to the police."
I shook my head. "There's no camera footage. No fingerprints. And he warned me. He's watching."
"That's all the more reason to act, Neha!"
"I can't. Not yet. He's not just watching. He's... planning something."
Aarav stared at me. Then softened. "I'm staying with you tonight. No arguments."
That night, Aarav stayed on the couch.
I kept my door slightly ajar, needing the illusion of safety his presence brought. But even then--I couldn't sleep.
Because when I returned to my room...
The rose was back. On my pillow.
Exactly the same. With a new note.
This one handwritten again-same elegant strokes, but sharper this time. More rushed. More emotional.
"You invited someone else into our space. That hurt me, Neha. I forgive you... this time. But don't test me. You know where you belong."
I clutched the note like it might draw blood. My knees buckled, and I sat on the edge of the bed, the paper trembling in my hands.
The next day, I scrubbed my apartment from top to bottom. I looked for hidden cameras. I opened every drawer. I checked the light fixtures, the smoke detector. Aarav helped without question.
Nothing. No sign of intrusion. No evidence.
I wasn't crazy. But I was close.
That night, I locked myself in my room. I kept my phone on record, the camera facing the door.
If he came in again-I'd catch him.
I fell asleep just after 2 a.m., exhaustion finally seducing me into blackness.
When I woke up-
The video feed had stopped at 2:47 a.m.
And my mirror had been moved.
Just slightly. A few inches off-center.
But I noticed.
He wanted me to. I didn't cry.
I should have. But I didn't.
Instead, I stood in front of the mirror. I reached up with both hands and slowly tilted it back into place.
And for a second-I swear I saw movement behind me.
But when I turned...
Nothing. Just the cold. And silence.
And the scent of roses.
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- Writer
