Rain pressed against the window in thin, restless fingers, tapping like an impatient editor waiting for revisions. Aaliya sat hunched over her desk, the glow of her laptop screen casting tired shadows across her face. The cursor blinked at the end of an unfinished sentence—mocking her, daring her to continue.

Ahhh!!! Whattt the hell....

She had written the same paragraph three times, and deleted it three times. Nothing sounded right anymore. Every word felt borrowed, every idea already told better by someone else.

Her phone buzzed. Another rejection email.

We regret to inform you…

She didn’t even finish reading. With a bitter laugh, she tossed the phone onto her bed.

"It is what it is "

Another rejection ...

But will she gave up , Nahh!!

This was her life at twenty-four. Endless submissions, endless rejections, and a job at a cramped bookstore that barely paid for rent and instant noodles. The dream of becoming a published author was slipping further each day, like sand through her fingers.

She rubbed her eyes, ready to close the laptop for good that night, when she heard it—

a soft scrape outside her apartment door.

At first, she thought it was just the rain, or maybe her tired mind playing tricks. But then came the sound again: paper sliding against wood.

Cautiously, Aaliya stood, crossed the room, and opened her door.

No one was there. The hallway was silent, washed in the dim orange glow of the flickering bulb overhead.

But at her feet, on the doormat, lay an envelope.

No stamp. No name. Just her apartment number written in neat, slanted handwriting.

She picked it up, her heart racing a little. Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded twice.

*“Do not give up. Your words are stronger than you believe. Tomorrow, at exactly 9:15 a.m., go to the old café across from the bookstore. Sit at the corner table. Do not leave until you are approached. Trust me.”*

No signature.

Aaliya stared at the letter, unsettled. Who could possibly know her struggles? And why the strange instructions?

For the first time in months, though, she felt something stir inside her chest—something that had been missing: curiosity.

She placed the letter on her desk, next to her rejected manuscript.

Tomorrow, she decided, she would go to the café.

Even if it was nonsense.

Even if it was dangerous.

Because maybe—just maybe—her story was about to begin.

*Aaliye*

Personality: cute , pretty,creative, like writing, kind, sweet, big dreams, silly sometimes, fear losing, big goals, ambitious ,live alone , have only few friends ,brave , intelligent, loving.

Soo, here is the first chapter.

She must be good writer then mee,Ahh!!

Well, Hi my dear readers 🥰

Hehe ,soo

This is my first story 😁

do tell me if you like the story or should I keep going,😁

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The rain had stopped by morning, but the streets were still slick, reflecting the gray sky like broken glass. Aaliya clutched the folded letter in her hand as she walked to the café.

It was 9:12 a.m. when she arrived. The old café was nearly empty, its wooden sign faded, the bell above the door giving a tired jingle as she pushed it open. Inside, the smell of roasted coffee beans wrapped around her like an old, familiar blanket.

She found the corner table just as the letter had instructed.

Her heart thudded louder with every tick of the clock on the wall. 9:14. 9:15.

Nothing happened.

She tried not to look suspicious, but her eyes scanned the café anyway—an elderly man reading the newspaper, a barista scribbling on a notepad, a mother calming her restless child. No one paid her any attention.

Minutes stretched like hours. She tapped her foot, her resolve weakening. Maybe it was a prank. Maybe someone from her building thought it would be funny to mess with her.

Then, at 9:21, the door opened.

A tall man in a gray coat stepped in, rain dripping from his hair. He didn’t look at anyone as he walked straight to the counter, ordered a black coffee, and turned. For a brief moment, his eyes met hers—sharp, assessing, as though he already knew who she was.

Aaliya’s pulse spiked. Was this him?

But the man didn’t approach. He sat at a different table, sipping his coffee in silence.

Frustrated, she looked back at the letter, as though it might change its words. Sit at the corner table. Do not leave until you are approached.

So she waited.

Half an hour passed. Then an hour. People came and went, but no one came to her. By 10:45, embarrassment burned hotter than curiosity.

She stood to leave.

And that’s when she saw it.

On her table, where her elbow had been resting the entire time, lay another envelope.

She froze.

It hadn’t been there before. She was sure of it. She hadn’t left the table, hadn’t taken her eyes off it for long. Yet there it was, pale against the dark wood.

With trembling hands, she opened it.

“Good. You followed instructions. Trust is the first step. But you still doubt me. Tomorrow, you will spill coffee on a man wearing a navy scarf. Do not apologize. Do not clean it. Walk away. It will change everything.”

Her mouth went dry.

How was this happening? How had the envelope appeared without her noticing?

And more importantly—was she willing to obey?

⚡️This is where suspense deepens—Aaliya is pulled further into the mystery but doesn’t yet understand the rules.

Here is the second chapter

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The next morning, Aaliya felt ridiculous.

She almost convinced herself not to go. The letter’s instructions still lay on her desk, heavy with absurdity. Spill coffee on a man with a navy scarf. Don’t apologize. Don’t clean it. Walk away.

It sounded more like a cruel prank than destiny. But something in her—curiosity, or desperation—dragged her back to the café.

She ordered a cappuccino, heart racing, and scanned the room. Students hunched over laptops. An old couple sharing pastries. The barista humming softly as she cleaned mugs.

No navy scarf.

Aaliya sat down, every nerve buzzing. Minutes dragged. She sipped her coffee, telling herself this was stupid. Maybe the letter-writer was laughing at her right now.

Then the bell above the door chimed.

A man stepped in, tall, with messy dark hair and a navy scarf looped neatly around his neck. He carried a stack of folders, looking distracted, his phone pressed between shoulder and ear.

Aaliya’s grip tightened on her cup.

No. This is insane.

And yet… wasn’t this exactly what the letter predicted?

Her pulse hammered. She stood, coffee trembling in her hand, and as he passed her table—

she collided with him.

The cappuccino spilled across his coat and onto the scarf.

The man gasped, jerking back. “What the—!”

Aaliya froze. Every instinct screamed at her to apologize, to grab napkins, to fix it. But the words from the letter echoed in her mind: Do not apologize. Do not clean it. Walk away.

Her throat tightened. Without a word, she turned and left the café.

She didn’t look back.

Getting out of the Cafe, she turned herself towards the road side .

" Ahhh!!, why do I need to listen to that aimless letter"

She couldn't help but to think what she just did...

She went to at bookstore after that but couldn't able to focus on the work.She wanted to take that scene out of her mind but couldn't ....

"I shouldn't have done that to that men " she think feeling guilty.

That night, sleep refused to come. Shame gnawed at her. She kept replaying the man’s shocked face, his ruined scarf. What if I ruined someone’s day? What if I ruined his life?

By morning, she was ready to forget the whole thing—until she turned on the news.

The man with the navy scarf filled the screen. A reporter’s voice crackled:

*“Local businessman Salman Rafiq narrowly escaped injury last night. His office caught fire after he left work earlier than usual. Sources say he was delayed by a coffee spill at a nearby café…”*

Aaliya’s stomach dropped.

She clutched the edge of the table, her breath sharp.

If she hadn’t spilled that coffee, he would have been in that building.

The letter had saved him.

Or… controlled him.

And her.

⚡️Now the mystery deepens—Aaliya starts to realize the letters aren’t just creepy… they’re powerful.

So that all for today

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Bye-bye