The Intruder

After an extended shift, Laila entered her apartment and sighed with relief as soon as the familiar woody smell of her furniture greeted her. She rolled her shoulders and let them relax. Stretching, she dumped her work bag on the sofa.

Her stomach growled. She still had to make herself dinner. She, after all, did not have the luxury of a takeout.

As she closed her bedroom door to change into a robe, she heard something. Barely above a whisper but there—a creak of the balcony door. Her ears were sharp as was her memory. She knew she left it close. She always checked. Always.

Ever since she and her boyfriend, Himan, broke up, she'd been extra careful with her home's safety. It was Laila's decision to break up, claiming she couldn't be with a guy who partied twice every week and drank into oblivion. She was fed up with him and having to baby him. She had not a moment's peace in her life, always having to clean and cook and wash while all he did was reward her with more work. Sure, Himan was a sleaze but he provided her with one thing she desperately needed: safety. With him gone, and her ex-roommate—her sister, Mani—now out of her life, she was forced to be extra vigilant.

She turned around to look for her bag. In it was a foldable knife she always carried, the only physical memory of her ex-boyfriend. But she'd left the bag outside.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath.

Opening the door a crack, she peered out.

Knock, knock.

The sound came from her little balcony.

Gulping her fear, she looked in the direction of the sound. Someone was there. A figure covered from head to toe in black stood, watching her. They wore a full-face mask, with two cuts for the eyes. The clothes were loose-fitting, concealing any indication of the body type. The only giveaway was the shoes. Black, round-toed faux leather boots with an inch heel from Metro.

Of course, Laila would know those women's shoes. She worked as a sales representative in Metro's showroom.

The figure jangled a key bunch in the air. Laila's eyes widened. It was hers! The duplicate, because the original was still in her trouser pocket. It had a key to every room and lock in the house. The woman was clearly saying that Laila had no way to hide. But she would. She shut the door close and pressed the button to lock it. It would give her some time. Laila pushed her dresser to block the door. She knew it wouldn't hold the intruder back for long. She needed a plan.

As Laila frantically looked around for a weapon, she realized the woman outside was not making any sound. Laila stilled to make sure. Silence. Laila was terrified of making any sound or giving what she was up to away. She secretly wanted to ball up in a corner and wait the storm out. But that was a coward's plan; a sure way to get hurt...or worse, killed.

An idea struck her. She opened her dresser drawer and found the eyeshadow palette she was looking for. She looked at it longingly before smashing it on the ground. It worked. The huge mirror broke into three pieces. Carefully, she removed the largest piece from the case—a thin, long triangle. She tore off her stole and wrapped it around the wider width, making it a dagger.

The keys jangled again and she realized the intruder was unlocking the door. Laila froze. The lock opened with a pop. In front of her, the dresser moved. Breathing heavily, Laila moved to the corner and waited. Her heart was hammering in her chest, threatening to burst. The dresser shifted again. Beads of sweat lined Laila's forehead as the space between her feet and the dresser shrank.

The door came to a halt.

Deafening silence pushed into Laila's ears before it was broken by the stifled sound of boots on tile. Laila moved, letting herself touch the dresser. Her naked feet helped mute her movements.