Day 3 without him.
My head ached, as if I had been thinking too loudly in my dreams.

I stumbled to the kitchen for water, and that's when I saw it-my diary, lying open on the counter. I didn't remember leaving it there.
The page was filled with words. My handwriting. Slanted, urgent, as if written in a hurry:

“I miss you. I still wait for you. If I can’t have you, no one will.”

I didn’t remember writing this.

My phone buzzed on the counter. A message. Unknown number.

Do you miss me too?

I dropped my phone on the counter, my fingers trembling.

I stared at it.
Unable to move.
Unable to breathe.

No one knew I lived here.
No one knew I stayed alone.
No one even had this number except—

My throat tightened.

Except him.

But that was impossible.

He couldn’t know.
He shouldn’t know.
I forced myself to pick up the phone again, slowly, like it might bite.

The message was still there.
Stark.
Simple.
Wrong.

My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

I smelled something then—something faint, familiar.
Cologne. His cologne.
Or maybe my mind was filling in the silence with ghosts.

I pressed a shaky hand to my temple.

“I’m just tired,” I whispered to no one.
But even my own voice didn’t sound convinced.

I closed the diary.
Hard.
Too hard.

I backed away from the counter, step by step, until my spine found the wall.
I stayed there, frozen, staring at the silent phone.

No name.
No clues.
Just a message that shouldn’t exist.

My breath trembled.

If this was a joke, it wasn’t funny.
If it was a mistake, it was terrifying.

If it was him—

No.
No.
It couldn’t be him.