She woke up before her alarm.
That never happened.
She always woke to the third chime — not the first.
Always at 7:15.
Always to the soft bell, not the buzz.
But today... her alarm had been changed.
To the buzzer.
And set to 7:00 a.m.
She didn't remember doing that.
But maybe she had?
She was tired. Burnt out. Sleepwalking through her own days.
That's what she told herself.
Until she noticed the rest.
---
The Calendar
Her calendar was wrong.
Meetings she never accepted now filled her days.
"1:1 check-ins," "Feedback Sessions," "Manager Syncs."
Always scheduled during windows she used to take walks.
Her walk time was gone.
Replaced with them.
Some meetings had already occurred — she had no memory of them.
No notes. No invites in her inbox.
They just... appeared.
She clicked into one:
> "Tuesday 4:30 – Strategy Talk (C. Brown)"
Her cursor hovered over the "Added By" line.
Admin.
But not her. And not HR.
Just one word:
Root.
---
The Web
That night, she stared at a blank wall in her flat.
Then she grabbed a pen and sticky notes.
She started writing:
1 km
Green coat
Flat 3B
"Smile for me"
Slack photo
Deleted message
Chris
Ron
Villa?
She stepped back, stared at them.
Then began drawing lines between each one.
By the end, it looked like a crime board.
Except the red string wasn't physical.
It was in her head.
And it was tightening.
---
The Pattern
Her route to work was subtly shorter now.
Shops she used to visit closed.
Signs redirected traffic.
A construction barrier rerouted the sidewalk toward a quieter street — the one by the alley.
Even her phone maps app kept suggesting "fastest route – revised", guiding her the same way.
The new way.
The watched way.
Someone had collapsed her world into a controlled loop.
Like she was a pawn on a board.
---
The New Photo
That night, she received an airdrop request on her phone.
Unknown device. One image.
She accepted before she could stop herself.
It was her — from earlier that day.
Walking toward her flat.
The photo was taken from above.
Her breath hitched.
Her flat didn't face any upper buildings.
No balconies.
No open windows.
Except... the flat above hers.
Which had been vacant for weeks.
---
The Decision
She stood in front of the staircase for Unit 4B.
Her palms were sweating.
Her mind screamed Don't do it.
But her feet moved anyway.
She climbed.
The door to 4B was shut.
The lock had no keyhole — just a keypad.
She tried 0000.
Then 1234.
Click.
The door opened.
And inside, a small light blinked red in the corner.
---
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It's not stalking if he thinks it's love.
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The Distance Between
Mystery / ThrillerAfter the death of her parents, Elsa Gavin moves into Flat 3B - just one kilometer from her new job. But distance doesn't mean safety. And someone knows her better than she knows herself. The Distance Between is a psychological thriller about silenc...
