Patient Eyes
874 Words
Elora's POV
Night had a way of turning her mind upside down, filling it with too many thoughts all at once. And now, there was one more thing to add to the list.
Elora lay awake long after the city outside her window had quieted, the sounds she once loved now refusing to settle. The distant hum of traffic felt louder tonight—more chaotic. Every passing car seemed to linger a second too long before fading away.
She turned onto her side, pulling the warm blanket tighter around herself, but it did nothing to calm her racing thoughts.
You’re tired, she told herself.
Gaslighting herself into feeling fine had become a habit—one she had perfected over time. That excuse had worked before. It should have worked now.
But her mind refused to let go of the feeling that had followed her home—the sense that something had shifted, quietly and without permission. It wasn’t fear. Not exactly. Fear was loud and obvious. This was subtler. A tension that settled beneath her skin and refused to leave.
Elora had always been an overthinker. She knew that about herself.
She replayed conversations long after they ended, wondering what she should have said, what she shouldn’t have, whether the outcome might have been different if she had chosen another word, another tone. She questioned glances that probably meant nothing, built possibilities out of coincidences, then scolded herself for it later.
It was a habit born from loss. And it was exhausting.
Because once the worst had already happened, the mind learned to anticipate it everywhere else.
Still, she couldn’t shake the image of the street earlier that evening—the uneasiness it had stirred in her. Too quiet. Too empty. The way the air had felt heavier, as if the night itself had been holding its breath.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Nothing happened, she reminded herself.
No footsteps. No voice. No proof.
Just a car.
A black sedan.
The thought snapped her eyes open.
Cars passed by all the time. The city was full of them. That one hadn’t done anything wrong—it hadn’t stopped, hadn’t slowed, hadn’t followed. It had simply existed in the same space she did.
And yet…
Elora pushed herself upright, rubbing her temples. She hated this part of herself—the way her mind spiraled, how easily she imagined patterns where there were none. It was exhausting, carrying vigilance like a second heartbeat.
Her phone buzzed softly on the nightstand.
She startled, her heart jumping before she could stop it.
It was nothing. Just a notification from a group chat she hadn’t muted yet. She let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head as she reached to silence it.
See? she told herself. Overthinking.
She lay back down, staring at the ceiling, counting the seconds between distant sounds. Somewhere outside, a car engine started. The low rumble traveled through the quiet street and faded away.
Elora waited for her pulse to slow.
Eventually, it did.
But even as sleep finally pulled her under, the feeling lingered—persistent, patient.
As if whatever had noticed her was in no hurry at all.
Morning came too quickly.
Sunlight pierced through the curtains, illuminating her room. Elora groaned, burying her face into the pillow.
“Ugh, I hate this,” she muttered.
Her lecture started at nine, which meant she was already running late.
Elora didn’t have many friends—just acquaintances, as she liked to call them. She wasn’t particularly social, but she knew how to blend in well enough to avoid standing out. After lectures, she headed to the library, spending three to four hours catching up on assignments and coursework.
Just as quickly as the sun had risen, it set again.
Time to head out.
She packed her things and left campus, taking her favorite route to the coffee shop. She anticipated the familiar warmth, the scent of crushed cocoa beans, the comfort it always brought her.
Halfway there, she slowed.
A black sedan was parked in the same spot as before.
She held her breath for two seconds.
Coincidence, she told herself.
Still, a thought crept in uninvited. If someone were watching her—if someone ever wanted to—it wouldn’t be someone loud or confident they’d choose. They’d go for someone quiet. Someone timid. Easy.
She lifted her chin, forcing herself to walk with confidence, her steps sharper, more deliberate.
Her chest tightened. Her hands curled around the straps of her bag. Sweat dampened her palms. The road to the coffee shop suddenly felt longer. Narrower.
She didn’t breathe properly until she pushed through the café door.
Inside felt safe.
The shift passed calmly. Slowly, she let go of her suspicions, convincing herself it had all been nothing more than coincidence.
By the time closing rolled around, her back ached from the day’s work. While wiping down tables, she noticed a folded piece of paper resting on one of them.
She almost ignored it.
Almost.
Something compelled her to open it.
Her breath caught.
“What the hell…” she whispered, eyes widening as she looked around the empty café.
The note was short. Neat.
Nice to see you again, Miss Elora.
- Writer
