The night after I left Zeal's apartment, sleep refused to come.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her standing by that window — small, fragile, but pretending to be strong. Something in my chest twisted with worry.
By 11:47 p.m., I gave up pretending I was okay. I reached for my phone, opened our chat, and typed:
"Did you lock the door?"
The message showed delivered… but never read.
I waited. One minute. Then two. Then ten.
Still nothing.
The silence began to feel heavy, like the air before a storm. I threw on my hoodie, grabbed my keys, and ran out.
⸻
Zeal's apartment was fifteen minutes away. That night, it felt longer.
The streets were empty, washed in the pale yellow of flickering lamps. I could hear my own footsteps echoing — too loud, too alone.
When I reached her door, I knocked softly.
No answer.
"Zeal… it's me."
Still no sound.
I pressed my ear to the door. Faintly, from inside, I heard a sound — like someone crying.
"Zeal!"
I turned the knob. It was unlocked.
The room smelled like rain and fear. Her phone was on the floor, its screen cracked. The message from the unknown number still glowed faintly on the display.
Then I saw her — sitting in the corner, knees drawn to her chest, trembling.
"Mercy…" she whispered. Her voice cracked. "He's back."
I rushed to her, holding her face between my palms. "Zeal, look at me. You're safe now. I'm here."
She shook her head violently. "No, you don't understand. I saw him, Mercy. Outside my window. I saw him."
I froze. My heart stopped for a beat.
Michael was supposed to be locked up.
But deep down, I already knew.
Monsters don't stay buried forever.
⸻
That night, I didn't leave her side. We sat by the dim light of the kitchen lamp, whispering like two children hiding from thunder.
"I keep remembering the day we met again," she said softly, her eyes on the steam rising from her tea.
"At the school?"
She nodded. "You walked into the teacher's room wearing that same stubborn smile you have now. I thought… maybe this time, fate brought you back to save me."
I smiled faintly. "Maybe it brought us both back to save each other."
She looked at me for a long moment — then rested her head on my shoulder. "Promise me you won't leave again."
"I promise," I whispered.
Outside, rain began to fall again.
And somewhere in the dark, a shadow moved past her window — slow, patient, watching.
He wasn't gone.
He was waiting.