HELLO

Anika’s phone buzzed as she stepped out of her office late that evening. The city was unusually quiet, blanketed under a low-hanging fog that blurred the edges of streetlights and cast eerie shadows across the empty streets.

She pulled her phone from her coat pocket.

A single notification.

Unknown Number: "Hello."

She frowned. There was no contact name, no profile picture, nothing but that simple word. Likely spam, she thought, slipping the phone back into her pocket as her heels clicked against the pavement. Yet, as she passed the shuttered shops and dark alleyways, a chill crept up her spine. The feeling that she wasn’t alone gnawed at her.

Someone was watching.

The next morning, as the sun barely pierced the grey sky, her phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number: "You looked beautiful in the red dress yesterday."

Anika froze.

Her red dress—she had worn it the night before. No photos were posted online, no selfies, no social media updates. Only she and the mirror knew.

With trembling fingers, she typed back: "Who is this?"

Three dots blinked.

Then the reply:

Unknown Number: "A friend. Just saying hello."

Anika’s heart raced as she blocked the number. But that night, it returned—this time from a different one.

Unknown Number: "You shouldn’t ignore me."

Panic settled deep in her chest. This wasn’t a prank. Someone was stalking her. She locked her doors and drew every curtain, yet the feeling of eyes upon her lingered like smoke in the air.

Over the next few days, the texts kept coming. Each more unsettling than the last.

"I like the way you laugh when you’re nervous."

"I’m closer than you think."

"Why don’t you ever wave back?"

And then, one evening, her phone buzzed with a picture. Her apartment door. Taken from outside. The timestamp was from minutes ago.

Anika’s breath hitched. She clutched her phone as another message followed.

Unknown Number: "Aren’t you going to say hello?"

Frantic, she dialled the police. As her thumb hovered over the call button, her screen lit up again.

Another photo.

Her stomach dropped.

It was her, standing at the window—taken from inside her apartment.

Heart pounding, she sprinted to her bedroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. Her ears strained for any sound beyond her heavy breaths. Then—

A soft knock on her bedroom door.

Her skin crawled.

A voice whispered, raspy and taunting: "Say hello, Anika."

She grabbed the nearest object—a lamp—and yanked the door open.

The hallway was empty.

Silence.

But her phone vibrated again.

A video.

She hesitated, then pressed play. The shaky footage revealed her bedroom, moments ago. In the corner of the frame—behind her—stood a man, tall and still, his face obscured by the dark.

Her heart stopped. She spun around.

Nothing.

The air felt thicker, colder.

Then came the final message.

Unknown Number: "I’m closer than you think."

And as if on cue, every light in the apartment flickered and died, plunging her into darkness.

By morning, Anika was gone.

Her friends reported her missing after she failed to answer calls or texts. When the police arrived, they found the apartment door locked from the inside. No signs of a break-in. Everything untouched—except for her phone, lying in the center of the living room floor, its screen softly glowing.

One unread message.

Unknown Number: "HELLO."

No footprints. No fingerprints. Just silence.

And somewhere, out there, someone was still watching.

Waiting.

💀The End💀

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