FACELESS LOVER

THE VOICE THAT STAYED

Episode 2:

the voice that stayed

The night should have ended when the call disconnected.

It didn’t.

I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, phone resting on my chest like it weighed more than it should. The room was quiet, too quiet, yet my mind was loud with one thing—his voice. Calm. Low. Familiar in a way that made no sense.

I didn’t know his name.

I didn’t know his face.

Yet somehow, he felt closer than people I’d known for years.

I told myself to sleep.

I failed.

Every time I closed my eyes, I heard him again. The pause before he spoke. The way he said my name like he was careful with it. Like it mattered.

I turned to my side and unlocked my phone. No new messages. Of course not. Still, I checked again, as if the screen might suddenly confess something.

Ridiculous.

The next morning came too fast.

Campus was alive in the way it always was—students laughing, rushing, complaining about lectures they’d still attend anyway. Life moving normally while something inside me felt slightly off, like a picture hung crooked on the wall.

I tried to focus in class. I really did. But my notes were messy, half-written sentences trailing into nothing. My pen hovered over the page, my thoughts somewhere else entirely.

Why did he call?

How did he know me?

Why did it feel like he knew more than he said?

My phone vibrated.

Once.

My heart jumped like it had been waiting.

Unknown Number.

I didn’t answer immediately. Fear crept in, sharp and fast. What if it wasn’t him? What if it was, and everything changed again?

The vibration stopped.

Then another message appeared.

Unknown: You didn’t hang up this time.

I swallowed.

Me: I was in class.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Unknown: Liar.

My breath caught—not in panic, but surprise.

Me: Excuse me?

Unknown: You’re sitting near the window. Third row. You always tap your pen when you’re nervous.

My fingers went cold.

Slowly, carefully, I turned my head.

The lecture hall was full. Too full. Faces everywhere, familiar and unfamiliar. No one was looking at me. No one obvious. No one waving.

Me: Where are you?

The dots paused longer this time.

Unknown: Not close enough to touch. Too close to ignore.

Fear finally bloomed, real and undeniable—but tangled with something else. Curiosity. Heat. A pull I couldn’t name.

Me: That’s not funny.

Unknown: I’m not laughing.

Class ended in a blur. I packed my bag fast, heart pounding, eyes scanning every corner. Still nothing. Still no face that stood out.

Outside, the sun felt too bright. Too normal.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown: You’re safe.

I stopped walking.

Me: You don’t get to decide that.

A pause.

Unknown: Fair. But I never meant to scare you.

I exhaled shakily.

Me: Then why stay hidden?

This time, the reply didn’t come fast.

When it did, it was only one line.

Unknown: Because if you see my face, you might not answer the next time I call.

My chest tightened.

That was the moment I realized something terrifying.

I didn’t want him to stop calling.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and kept walking, heart heavy with questions I wasn’t ready to ask—and answers I wasn’t sure I could survive.

Behind me, somewhere in the crowd, a presence lingered.

Watching.

Waiting.

And for the first time, I understood the truth:

This wasn’t just a voice anymore.

This was the beginning of something dangerous.