Emma Reid didn't believe in ghosts — not the kind that haunted abandoned buildings or creaked through floorboards at night. But the kind that walked silently through her memory, showed up in empty chairs, and left behind unfinished texts — those, she believed in.
Her brother, Daniel, had been gone for 47 days. And in every one of those days, she'd woken up hoping the nightmare would end. It hadn't.
---
She wasn't the kind of girl people noticed twice. No dramatic eyeliner, no loud group of friends, no social media captions about "healing energy." Just Emma — low bun, dark hoodies, practical sneakers, and a sharp tongue she only used when necessary.
Her second-year classes at Karachi Central University were manageable, but lately, she was failing the subject that mattered most: figuring out what the hell happened to her brother.
---
That rainy evening, she sat on her hostel bed with her knees pulled to her chest, Daniel's worn-out notebook resting in her lap. The yellow light above flickered, then steadied. Wind whispered through the half-open window. Somewhere in the hallway, someone was laughing too loudly. Life went on.
For everyone except her.
The leather-bound journal was the only thing he left behind. No wallet. No laptop. Just this book, filled with scribbled names, unfinished thoughts, and strange questions written in frantic handwriting.
> "Why didn't they cover the fire in Sector 12?"
"Who owns Brightstone Corp? Shell company?"
"Trust no one, not even them."
"He said I was next. What does that mean?"
It read like a conspiracy theory blog — except Daniel wasn't like that. He was logical, calm, calculated. He didn't lose control.
And yet… his last pages felt like a mind unraveling.
---
Emma's phone lit up.
A single vibration. One new message.
She glanced down casually — until she saw the sender.
Unknown Number
"Stop asking questions that have no answers. Daniel knew that. You should too."
Her breath caught in her throat.
She read it again. And again.
The phone slipped slightly in her fingers as her body registered the chill before her brain did.
Who was this?
She hadn't told anyone about her digging — not her roommate, not her professor, not even her best friend Nora. The notebook stayed locked in her drawer. Her theories were confined to late-night Google searches and anonymous forums.
Someone was watching her. Or at least watching what she knew.
She jumped off the bed, went straight to her desk, and opened the bottom drawer. The notebook thudded against the table as she flipped quickly to the second-to-last page. Her eyes scanned the red-underlined line again:
> "If something happens to me, it's not an accident. Someone's watching."
Her hands shook slightly. For a brief moment, fear sat heavily on her chest.
Then, anger replaced it.
"You want me to stop?" she muttered. "That just makes me want it more."
---
Next Morning
Campus smelled like wet trees and cheap coffee. The rain had stopped, but puddles glistened under students' shoes as they rushed between classes.
Emma walked slower than usual, her backpack heavy not just with books but with questions. She couldn't focus on lectures, couldn't hear the professors clearly. Every face looked unfamiliar and untrustworthy.
That was the problem with paranoia — once it started, it touched everything.
She walked past the bulletin board near the admin block, barely glancing at the flyers for "Open Mic Night" and "Exam Prep Seminars."
Then, she saw him.
---
Liam Carter.
She recognized him instantly, though she'd never spoken to him. He was that kind of person — the one you only noticed because everyone else avoided him.
Tall. Messy dark hair that looked like it hadn't been brushed in days. Sleeves rolled to the elbows. Headphones around his neck but not on his ears. A thick hardcover book in his hand, worn like it had been read a dozen times.
The rumors about him floated around every semester:
> "Expelled twice."
"Anger issues."
"Barely speaks."
"Smart but seriously messed up."
Emma didn't care for gossip — not usually. But today was different.
Because on the back cover of Liam's book, barely visible unless you were looking for it… was a torn yellow sticky note.
It was old. Crinkled. And worst of all — familiar.
Emma stopped walking.
No. It couldn't be.
But it was. She knew that handwriting anywhere.
Daniel's.
It was his note. His exact handwriting. A lowercase "d" with a strange slant. That tiny circle he always drew instead of dots over the letter "i". It wasn't just similar — it was his.
---
She stared for a second too long.
Liam suddenly looked up, his eyes meeting hers from across the walkway. Cold. Observing. Calculating.
She blinked.
And just like that, he slipped behind the building and vanished — like fog after sunrise.
---
Emma stood frozen. Heart racing.
How did Liam have Daniel's note? Did they know each other? Daniel never mentioned him. And Emma never saw him at any family dinner or photo. So how...?
She reached for her phone, about to text Nora, but it buzzed on its own.
Unknown Number:
"Wrong move, Emma. Now you're part of it too."
---
She dropped the phone.
Not because of fear, but because of how real it suddenly all became.
The notebook. The text. The note on Liam's book. The message that arrived seconds after she saw it. It wasn't random.
They were watching her. And they weren't guessing. They knew.
Daniel didn't vanish.
He was taken — or worse.
And now…
she was next.
---