The moonlight streamed through the window like a silent witness, painting the walls in shades of silver and blue. Purvi sat on the edge of her bed, clutching the note to her chest as though it might protect her from the shadows that now seemed alive in every corner of her room.
I see you. Always have. Always will.
The words bled into her mind, repeating like a sinister chant. Every creak of the house felt like a footstep, every rustle of leaves a breath on the back of her neck.
A sudden knock on the door made her jump. She hadn't heard Karan come in, but she knew it was him. Only Karan would knock in that gentle, hesitant way.
She opened the door and found him standing there, his eyes wide with worry. His hair was damp from the rain, and the smell of wet earth clung to him, grounding her in the present.
"Purvi." His voice was a balm, soft but edged with panic. "Are you okay?"
She tried to answer, but her voice came out as a trembling whisper. "Karan… he left a note. In my room." She held it out to him, her fingers trembling.
Karan's jaw tightened as he read the words, his eyes darkening with a protective fire. "This isn't just some prank, Purvi. This is real. We have to do something."
Purvi nodded, tears streaking her face. "I feel like I'm losing my mind, Karan. I don't know what's real anymore."
Karan stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. "You're not losing your mind. You're not alone. We'll figure this out together, okay?"
She buried her face in his chest, letting the warmth of his embrace shield her from the cold dread that had seeped into her bones.
—
The next morning dawned with a hesitant sun, weak against the lingering chill of the night. Purvi barely slept, every sound dragging her back to that note, to the watcher who seemed to slip through the cracks of her life like smoke.
Karan stayed on the couch, refusing to leave her side. He'd fallen asleep with his phone in his hand, as though he could protect her with his vigilance.
As she made tea, she noticed the exhaustion on his face, the way his hair stuck up at odd angles, and a small smile tugged at her lips despite everything. "You look like you fought a storm."
He laughed, a short, rough sound. "I feel like I did."
They sat at the kitchen table, the warmth of the tea cups a small comfort against the tension that hung between them.
"Karan," she said, voice low, "I keep thinking about the note. About how he got inside. I always lock the doors. The windows. How did he—"
Karan's eyes were serious, his jaw set. "I think we need to tell the police. Again. But this time, we need to show them the note. And maybe… I can stay here with you for a few days. If that's okay with you."
Purvi's heart ached at his words—at the fierce kindness in his eyes. "Yes. I'd like that."
A small flicker of hope sparked in her chest.
—
The police came that afternoon—a tall officer named Inspector Rana, who looked more exhausted than she felt. He examined the note with gloved hands, his brow furrowed.
"It's a threat," he said bluntly. "But without more evidence—fingerprints, video footage—it's hard to pursue. Do you have any idea who might want to scare you like this?"
Purvi shook her head. "No. I mean… no one comes to mind. I haven't had any fights or—"
Karan stepped in, his voice firm. "She's been receiving messages from unknown numbers. And she saw someone outside her window last night."
Inspector Rana scribbled notes, his face unreadable. "We'll increase patrols in the area. And I'll put in a request for a tech team to trace the messages, though it's tricky with disposable numbers. In the meantime, don't be alone if you can avoid it. Keep your doors locked. And if you see anything—anything—call us immediately."
He left with a promise, but the echo of doubt in his voice remained.
—
That evening, the house felt smaller, as though the walls were closing in around her. She tried to focus on her studies, but every time she glanced at her phone, dread coiled in her stomach.
Karan made dinner—simple pasta that smelled of garlic and herbs—and insisted she eat. "You can't fight the darkness on an empty stomach," he teased, but there was a tension in his smile.
After dinner, they sat on the couch, a small lamp casting a warm pool of light around them. Purvi leaned her head against his shoulder, her heart a jumble of exhaustion and gratitude.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?" he asked, his hand brushing hers.
"For staying. For believing me."
His voice was soft but strong. "Always."
They sat like that for a long time, the silence between them filled with unspoken promises.
—
Sometime after midnight, a noise woke her—a faint tapping at the window.
Her breath caught.
"Karan," she whispered, shaking him awake.
He blinked, confusion giving way to alarm as he heard it too. Tap. Tap. Tap.
He stood quickly, crossing the room in three strides. He threw open the curtain—and found nothing.
The street was empty. Silent.
But then—another noise. A soft click at the front door.
Karan's face hardened. "Stay here."
"Karan, no—"
But he was already moving, his hand wrapped around the handle of the umbrella stand by the door like a makeshift weapon.
Purvi's heart pounded as he swung the door open. The night air rushed in, cool and heavy with the scent of rain.
No one.
Just the darkness.
Karan stepped outside, scanning the yard, the street, the shadows between the trees. Purvi followed, her bare feet cold on the tile.
"Karan—" she began, but he held up a hand, signaling her to stop.
Then he saw it—a shape in the shadows, half-hidden behind the neighbor's fence.
"Hey!" he shouted, voice sharp. "Show yourself!"
The shape moved—darting out into the street. A man, tall and thin, wearing a hoodie that concealed his face. He ran, and Karan took off after him.
"Karan!" Purvi screamed, but he didn't stop.
She stood frozen in the doorway, the world spinning. Then she grabbed her phone, dialing the police as fast as her fingers would allow.
"911—what's your emergency?"
"My friend—he's chasing someone who was watching my house. Please hurry!"
She gave them the address, her voice trembling.
Minutes passed like hours.
Then Karan emerged from the darkness, panting, empty-handed.
"He got away," he said, anger and frustration boiling in his eyes. "But I saw his face—just for a second."
Purvi's breath caught. "You did? Who was it?"
Karan hesitated, his face shadowed. "I don't know. I've never seen him before."
The police arrived then, their flashing lights a small comfort against the darkness. They took statements, searched the yard, but found nothing.
As they left, Inspector Rana lingered, his eyes serious. "This isn't over," he said. "We'll find him. But you need to be careful. Watch each other's backs."
Purvi nodded, her heart heavy.
—
That night, as she lay in bed, Karan on the couch again, she stared at the ceiling, the darkness pressing in.
Somewhere out there, someone was watching. Someone who knew her name. Her house. Her life.
And as sleep claimed her, a single thought echoed in her mind:
What if he's someone I know?
The question slithered through her dreams like a snake, coiling tighter with every breath.
The girl by the window was no longer just a witness—she was part of the story.
And this story was only beginning.