Mira never took the same route home twice. It was a habit born of paranoia—one she couldn’t shake since that night. The night she had walked alone and heard the footsteps behind her, stopping when she stopped, moving when she moved.
That was six months ago. No one had been there when she turned, no one had followed her into her building, yet she couldn’t forget the sound.
Tonight, the streetlights flickered as she passed under them. She walked briskly, gripping the strap of her bag, her ears sharp for the familiar rhythm behind her.
And then—there it was. A second set of footsteps.
Mira’s breath hitched. She didn’t turn, didn’t stop. She forced herself forward, past the small shops and closed stalls, towards her building.
The footsteps quickened.
She ran.
Her key jabbed at the lock as she reached her apartment, hands trembling. She threw herself inside and slammed the door shut. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
Silence.
Minutes passed. She let out a shaky breath. It was just her imagination. It had to be.
Then her phone buzzed. A new message.
“Why did you run?”
Mira’s blood ran cold.
She hadn’t given anyone her number.
The echo of footsteps had finally caught up.
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Dammm! You shook me😶 good one
Mira was never Mira to whosoever reading this. It would be themselves. Great thriller.