The rain hadn't stopped for seven days.
It beat against the cracked windows of the third-floor apartment like a reminder—steady, relentless, and impossible to ignore. The city was quiet beneath its weight, its usual buzz swallowed by the storm. Inside, where the shadows curled into corners and time seemed to float in suspended breath, the laptop sat untouched.
Unopened.
Undisturbed.
Until now.
Riya stared at it from across the room, standing perfectly still in the doorway like an outsider to her own life. The sight of the sleek black shell twisted her stomach. It was a machine, yes. But it had teeth.
Three years ago, it ruined everything.
She took a step toward the desk. The floorboard creaked beneath her foot—an old wooden groan she once found comforting, but tonight it sounded like warning.
She reached the desk. Her hand hovered above the lid. The moment stretched. Her pulse quickened.
A tap.
The screen lit up instantly, as though it had been waiting all this time for her return. Not a single file out of place. Not a trace of dust on the keyboard. Just one folder at the center of the desktop:
Do Not Open - 02/11/22 - 3:17 AM"
The same timestamp as the message that changed her life.
Riya clicked it.
A single text document loaded. It opened without delay—no password, no encryption, no warning. She scanned the top line and stopped breathing.
"This file will self-delete in five minutes."
"You are not alone."
Behind her, a floorboard creaked again.
But she hadn't moved.