The house was quiet. Too quiet.
It wasn’t the peaceful kind of quiet, either — it was the kind that felt aware.
The kind that made you keep glancing over your shoulder even when you knew you were alone.
I sat on my bed with my laptop open, pretending to scroll through history notes.
But my attention kept drifting to the drawer in my desk.
The one where I’d hidden the note.
The one he had slipped to me without a word.
I still hadn’t told anyone about it.
Not Mom. Not my best friend. Not even myself out loud.
Saying it felt like it would make it more real.
The only sound in the room was the faint hum of my laptop fan… until it wasn’t.
Suddenly, the screen froze.
The cursor stopped blinking.
And then, slowly, letter by letter, words began to type themselves across the search bar.
“You’re not safe there.”
My heart stopped.
The words flickered once, then vanished. My laptop went black.
A second later, my phone lit up.
1 New Message.
No name. No number. Just “Unknown.”
I stared at it for a full minute before opening it.
> Don’t trust anyone in your house.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
The walls seemed to lean in closer.
My ears rang.
I typed back with shaky fingers: Who are you?
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
> They’re not who you think they are.
Before I could respond, the message blinked out of existence.
Not deleted — gone.
Like it had never been there at all.
My pulse was racing. I didn’t know if I wanted to scream or cry.
I forced myself to look toward my door.
Everything sounded normal downstairs — the faint laugh track of Mom’s drama, the occasional creak of the fridge door.
But it didn’t feel normal anymore.
That’s when I heard it.
A faint, deliberate tap against glass.
I froze.
The sound came again. Not a knock. Not a random creak.
A tap. Precise. Intentional.
I forced my legs to move, crossing the room to my window.
My fingers shook as I pulled the curtain back.
He was there.
The boy. The one who had given me the first note.
Standing in the dark yard, hoodie up, shadows hiding most of his face.
The air around him seemed unnaturally still — not even the branches above him moved.
In his hand, he held a small black envelope.
When he saw me, he didn’t wave. Didn’t speak.
Instead, he lifted the envelope slowly… and pointed straight at my house.
It was only then that I noticed something else.
There was movement in the reflection of my window.
Behind me.
And it wasn’t mine.
YOU ARE READING
The window between us
Mystery / ThrillerNew town. New school. New start. That's what seventeen-year-old Lila Bennett expected when she moved to Willowridge. But on her first night, she sees someone in a black hoodie standing outside her bedroom window... watching her. The next morning, sh...
