CRIMSON DESIRE

I always thought walking home late wasn’t a big deal. It had become normal for me, almost comforting in a strange way. The streets were quieter, the air cooler, and the city lights felt softer when there weren’t crowds everywhere. Most nights, it was just me, the hum of distant traffic, and the faint glow of streetlights stretching down the road like a trail I had memorized. Tonight didn’t feel like most nights. I noticed it the moment I turned the corner near the empty pharmacy. The wind felt colder than usual, sharp enough to slip through my jacket like it wasn’t even there. It brushed against the back of my neck and made my skin prickle. I pulled my bag closer to my chest and walked a little faster, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling crawling up my spine. “You’re overthinking,” I muttered quietly to myself, the sound of my own voice oddly loud in the silence. My heels clicked against the pavement — too loud, too sharp, echoing off the buildings like someone was repeating every step behind me. I tried to slow down so I wouldn’t look nervous, but my body wouldn’t listen. My heart was already beating faster than it should have been. Then the streetlight above me flickered. Once. Twice. And then it steadied again. I swallowed and kept walking, pretending not to notice how the shadows around me seemed longer than they should be. They stretched across the road, twisting into shapes that made my stomach tighten. It felt stupid to be scared of shadows, but something about them tonight felt wrong. Like they weren’t just shadows. Like something was inside them. I tightened my grip on my bag and kept moving, telling myself I was almost home. Just a few more minutes. That was all. Then I heard it. A soft sound behind me. Not loud. Not clear. Just enough to make my steps slow down. My breath caught in my throat. I stopped walking. The silence that followed was worse than the sound itself. It felt heavy, pressing down on me, like the entire street had gone still just to see what I would do next. “Hello?” I called out, my voice smaller than I meant it to be. It echoed back at me, empty and useless. For a second, nothing happened. Then I heard footsteps. Light ones. Slow. Careful. Not mine. My heart slammed hard against my chest, and I turned slowly, afraid of what I might see and even more afraid of seeing nothing at all. At first, there was just darkness. And then he stepped out of it. He was tall — taller than most men I knew — and broad-shouldered in a way that made him look almost too solid for the quiet street. His movements were calm, controlled, like he wasn’t in a hurry and never needed to be. He didn’t look dangerous exactly, but something about him made the air feel heavier. He stopped a few steps away from me, his face partly hidden in the dim light. “Late night,” he said. His voice was low and smooth, not threatening, but there was something underneath it that made me hold my breath for a second longer than normal. “Yeah,” I said quickly, trying to sound normal. “Just walking home.” Why did that sound like an excuse? He nodded slowly, like he had expected me to say that. For a second, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us, awkward and strange. I was just about to step around him and leave when I heard something else. Footsteps. Not his. Behind him. And they were moving faster. My stomach dropped instantly. I didn’t even have time to react properly before he moved. One second he was standing a few feet away from me, and the next he was right in front of me, his body blocking the street like a wall. “Stay behind me,” he said quietly. The words were calm, but something about the way he said them made my legs obey without thinking. I stepped back, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure both of them could hear it. A man rushed out of the darkness, his face barely visible, his arm raised. The knife in his hand caught the streetlight for just a second. I screamed. The sound came out sharp and panicked, and I covered my mouth instantly, my whole body shaking. Everything happened so fast after that that my brain couldn’t even catch up. The stranger moved. Not like a normal person. Not clumsy. Not hesitant. Fast. Precise. Silent. The man with the knife barely had time to react before he was on the ground, clutching his arm and swearing under his breath. The knife clattered against the pavement and slid a few inches away. “Run,” the stranger said coldly. The man didn’t argue. He scrambled up and disappeared back into the darkness like he had never been there at all. I stood frozen, my hands trembling so badly I couldn’t even feel my fingers properly. My chest rose and fell too fast, like I had been running for miles. I looked at the stranger again, trying to understand what had just happened. “W-who are you?” I asked, my voice barely steady. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked down the street, scanning it slowly, like he was expecting more trouble to appear. Only when he seemed satisfied that no one else was coming did he finally glance at me. “Just someone who doesn’t like people getting hurt,” he said. It sounded simple, but something about the way he said it made it feel like there was more behind it. I swallowed, trying to calm my breathing. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “I don’t even know your name.” He tilted his head slightly, like he was thinking about it. “Names aren’t important,” he replied. I frowned. “Not important?” “Not yet.” That only made me more confused. Before I could ask what that meant, a cold wind swept down the street, stronger this time. It carried a strange scent with it — faint, metallic, almost like something sharp and unfamiliar. The feeling of being watched came back instantly, stronger than before. I hugged my arms around myself. The stranger’s expression changed slightly. Not fear. Not surprise. Just… focus. Like he had suddenly noticed something he didn’t like. His eyes moved over me carefully, studying me in a way that made my heart skip again. Not in a creepy way. Just intense. Too intense for someone who had only met me two minutes ago. “Go home,” he said. “What?” “Go home,” he repeated, softer this time. “And don’t look back.” Something in his voice made it impossible to argue. I nodded slowly, even though I wanted to ask a thousand more questions. I turned and started walking again, forcing myself not to run even though every part of me wanted to. My heart was still racing, my hands still shaking. I didn’t hear him leave. One second I could feel his presence behind me, and the next it was gone. Completely gone, like he had disappeared into the night itself. But the feeling of being watched didn’t go away. If anything, it got worse. Halfway down the street, I felt it again — eyes on me. Not his this time. Someone else. Someone hidden, quiet, patient. I resisted the urge to turn around. I walked faster. Then faster. And then I ran. By the time I reached my apartment building, my breathing was uneven and my chest hurt. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped my keys twice before I finally got the door open. The second I stepped inside, I locked it immediately. Then I slid down to the floor, my back pressed against the door, trying to calm my breathing. The apartment was quiet, familiar, safe — but the fear hadn’t left me yet. It clung to my skin like the cold wind from outside. I closed my eyes, but all I could see was him. The stranger. The way he moved. The way he looked at me. The way he said my life had just changed without actually saying the words. And deep down, I knew something I didn’t want to admit. Tonight wasn’t random. Tonight was the beginning of something. Something that had already noticed me. Something that wasn’t done yet. And I want him anyway.