The rain hadn’t stopped by the time Mila reached her apartment. Her hair clung damply to her cheeks, her black dress plastered to her skin, every step squelching with water. She told herself she’d laugh about it someday, but her heart wasn’t in the lie.

Because even as she fumbled with her keys, she swore she heard it—the faint rhythm of footsteps echoing a beat behind hers.

She whipped around.

The street stretched empty, slick with rain and reflecting the dim amber glow of the streetlights. Shadows curled into the alleys like waiting hands. Nothing moved. Nothing except the drip-drip of rainwater sliding off rooftops.

Her chest heaved. “You’re imagining it,” she whispered, forcing her trembling hands to unlock the door. Still, she couldn’t shake the sensation—that prickle at the base of her neck, the feeling of unseen eyes tracing her every movement.

By the time she stepped inside and locked the door, Mila’s pulse was hammering so hard she thought her ribs might crack. She pressed her forehead to the cool wood, breathing in the silence.

Safe. She was safe.

And yet…

She dragged herself into the bathroom and stared into the mirror. Her reflection looked like a ghost—eyes wide and rimmed with exhaustion, mascara smudged down her cheeks. The kind of girl no one would look at twice in a crowded room. So why did it feel like someone had been looking at her all night?

Her phone buzzed on the counter. A message from Aria.

Ugh where did you run off to AGAIN? That guy was staring at you like you were the only one there. Do you have any idea how lucky you are??

Mila’s stomach twisted. Lucky. That was Aria’s word for everything she didn’t understand. Mila didn’t feel lucky. She felt exposed.

She tossed the phone onto the counter and stepped into the shower, letting the scalding water wash over her. But no matter how hot it burned, it couldn’t erase the phantom weight of those eyes in the shadows.

The next morning, Mila sat curled on the edge of her bed, clutching a mug of coffee like a lifeline. Her notebooks lay untouched on the desk, deadlines looming, but concentration was impossible. The rain had stopped, yet the silence outside felt heavier than before.

A knock jolted her from her thoughts. She nearly dropped the mug.

“Mila!” Aria’s voice floated through the door, high and impatient.

With reluctance, Mila opened it. Aria stood there in oversized sunglasses despite the cloudy sky, her perfume thick and cloying, her smile bright but sharp at the edges.

“Finally.” She swept inside without waiting for an invitation, tossing her bag onto the couch. “You’re impossible to reach. Did you seriously ditch me again last night?”

“I told you—I left early.”

Aria pulled off her glasses, revealing bloodshot eyes. She laughed, but it was brittle. “You left me with strangers, Mila. Do you know how messed up that is? Anything could’ve happened.”

Guilt pricked at her, but anger surged beneath it. “You didn’t even notice I was gone until hours later. You were too busy draped over that guy.”

Aria’s expression darkened. “Don’t twist this. I’m trying to help you. You spend all your time hiding, and when someone like Liam actually looks at you, you run? God, sometimes I don’t get you.”

Mila flinched at his name, her throat tightening. “You don’t have to get me.”

“Maybe not.” Aria’s eyes narrowed, her voice dropping. “But you can’t keep pushing people away. Not if you ever want to escape this boring little life you’re so desperate to protect.”

The words cut deeper than they should have. Mila looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

After a moment, Aria sighed dramatically and flopped onto the couch. “Whatever. There’s another event tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll drag you out of your cave if I have to.”

“I’m not going,” Mila said quickly, sharper than intended.

Aria shot her a look but didn’t argue. She just smirked, the kind of smile that promised she wasn’t finished yet.

That night, Mila couldn’t sleep.

Every creak of the building set her nerves on edge. She kept checking the locks, her phone clutched in her hand like a weapon she didn’t know how to use. Midnight came and went, the silence outside thick enough to choke her.

Finally, she forced herself to the window. The street below was empty, the lamppost flickering weakly. She almost laughed at herself—jumping at shadows like a child.

But then she saw it.

Across the street, half-hidden in the dark, a figure stood perfectly still.

Watching.

Her breath froze in her chest. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, looked again—

The figure was gone.

Mila didn’t sleep a second after the shadow vanished. She sat by the window until dawn broke, her legs pulled against her chest, eyes burning with exhaustion. Every car that passed, every person who walked their dog in the gray morning light, felt like proof that she had imagined the figure. But deep down, she knew she hadn’t.

By the time her alarm blared for class, her body was heavy, her mind fogged. She moved on autopilot—shower, clothes, bag—each motion robotic. Still, her gaze darted to the window again and again, waiting for the shape to return.

In lecture, she couldn’t focus. The professor’s words blurred into a meaningless hum while her eyes scanned the room, searching for a pair of eyes fixed on her. At one point she was sure someone in the back row was staring, but when she blinked, the seat was empty.

Aria noticed, of course. Sliding into the chair beside her, she leaned in, whispering, “You look like hell. Seriously, Mila, one night without sleep and you’re a zombie.”

Mila’s pencil stilled against the paper. “Do you ever feel like…someone’s watching you?”

Aria tilted her head, her lips curving into a smirk. “All the time. It’s called being hot.”

Mila gave her a flat look, but Aria just laughed, tossing her hair back. “Relax. No one cares enough to watch you.”

The words were meant as a joke, but they stung. Mila forced her focus back to her notebook, swallowing the knot in her throat.

After class, she ducked out before Aria could latch onto her again. The campus felt too open, too exposed. She hugged the straps of her bag to her chest, her steps quickening.

That was when she heard it.

Footsteps.

At first she told herself it was nothing—just another student heading in the same direction. But the longer she walked, the clearer it became: the rhythm matched hers exactly, pausing when she paused, resuming when she moved.

Her heart thundered.

She spun around—

And froze.

It was him.

Liam.

He stood a few feet away, hands tucked casually in his pockets, that calm expression still etched across his face. But in the bright daylight, his presence was sharper, more real. He wasn’t just a stranger in the shadows anymore—he was flesh and bone, watching her.

“Relax,” he said, as if he could hear her panic. “It’s just me.”

Her throat tightened. “Why are you following me?”

He lifted a brow. “I wasn’t. You looked… lost. Again.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to stalk me.” The words tumbled out harsher than she intended, but her fear outweighed her manners.

Something flickered in his eyes—hurt? amusement? She couldn’t tell. “Fair. But if I wanted to hurt you, Mila, I would’ve done it that night.”

The sound of her name on his lips startled her. She hadn’t given it to him.

Her chest constricted. “How do you know my name?”

He hesitated, the corner of his mouth tugging into a half-smile. “Maybe you mentioned it. Maybe I overheard. Don’t overthink it.”

But she was overthinking it. Every alarm in her body screamed that something was off. Yet at the same time, his voice, his steady gaze, pulled her in like gravity.

“I don’t want your help,” she whispered, stepping back. “I don’t even know you.”

His jaw tightened, as if holding back words he wanted to say. Finally, he nodded once. “You’re right. You don’t.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

Mila stood frozen, the world tilting beneath her. Relief warred with confusion, and somewhere deep inside, disappointment she didn’t want to admit.

That night, she dreamed.

She was sixteen again, standing in the hallway of her parents’ house. Her father’s voice thundered, her mother’s back turned coldly away. And behind them, in the shadows, a figure watched.

Blue eyes.

She jolted awake, drenched in sweat.

The room was silent, but not empty. She could feel it—that prickle of awareness, that weight of a presence lingering in the dark.

Slowly, trembling, she turned her head toward the window.

The curtains shifted ever so slightly.

And outside—half-hidden by the glass—those same piercing blue eyes stared back at her.