The window between us

Chapter 5- Not Alone

I didn’t breathe.
Couldn’t breathe.

Every muscle in my body screamed at me to turn around, but it felt like my bones had locked into place. My gaze stayed fixed on the faint reflection in the window—an outline behind me, just close enough to make the hairs on my neck rise.

I swallowed hard, forcing my body to obey. My shoulders twitched first, then I spun around so fast the room blurred.

Nothing.

The dim light from my desk lamp stretched shadows across the walls, each one harmless and familiar. My shelves. My bed. My chair. Empty.

But the air…
It felt heavier than it had a second ago. Warmer. As if someone had just been standing there, their presence lingering even after they were gone.

My chest tightened.

I turned back to the window.
The boy was gone.

Heart pounding, I slid the lock and shoved the glass upward, leaning halfway out into the night. The quiet was too perfect. Streetlights hummed. The leaves in the old maple swayed with a soft hiss. No footsteps. No rustling. Just the low, steady thrum of silence.

Then I saw it.

Lying on the grass directly below my window—a black envelope.

I froze. My first thought was that it had been there earlier and I just hadn’t noticed. But something in my gut knew better.

I didn’t want to go downstairs. I didn’t want to open my bedroom door at all. But I couldn’t let it sit there either.

Slowly, I padded out into the hallway. Every floorboard groaned under my weight, each sound far too loud in the stillness of the house. The living room was dark now—Mom must have gone to bed early. At least, that’s what I told myself.

The back door was colder than I expected, my fingers stinging as I turned the knob. The air outside bit into my skin, and the damp grass clung to my bare feet as I stepped into the yard.

The envelope was heavier than it looked. Thick paper. Unfamiliar. My name written on the front in neat, careful handwriting.

I didn’t open it right away. Instead, I just stood there, clutching it, my eyes scanning every shadow. The hedge. The garage. The street.

Nothing.

Back inside, I locked the door. Then I locked my bedroom door too. Only when I was sitting cross-legged on my bed did I break the seal.

A single photograph slid out.

My stomach dropped.

It was me—standing at my desk, head bent over my notebook, the exact outfit I’d worn last night. The picture had been taken from outside my window.

My throat went dry.

I flipped the photo over.
In the same careful handwriting were four words:

He’s already inside.

The paper trembled in my hands.
I didn’t know if the boy was warning me…
…or if he was the one already inside.