Morning arrived the way it always does—uninvited and unnecessary.
There's something offensive about sunlight when you haven't resolved the night before. It enters your room like a witness, illuminating everything you were hoping to ignore.
I opened my eyes slowly.
Not because I was tired.
But because I wasn't ready.
The ceiling looked the same as always. Blank. Indifferent. A silent observer to a life that was gradually losing its structure.
For a moment, I stayed still.
Replaying it.
The street.
The shadow.
The note.
You're late, Harry.
Three words.
Simple.
Precise.
Personal.
I sat up.
Ran a hand through my hair, as if that would somehow reorganize my thoughts.
It didn't.
Nothing does.
Not coffee.
Not sleep.
Not people.
Especially not people.
A knock on the door broke the silence.
Sharp. Impatient. Familiar.
"Wake up, philosopher. It's morning, not your funeral."
Tyler.
Of course.
I exhaled.
"Come in."
He didn't wait for permission. He never does.
The door opened, and there he was—standing like he owned the moment, even when the moment didn't belong to anyone.
Tyler had that kind of presence.
Effortless.
Dangerous.
Convincing.
"Why do you look like you just saw your own obituary?" he asked, leaning against the wall.
"Because I might have," I replied.
He smirked.
"Dramatic as always."
He walked in, scanning the room like it was a crime scene.
Which, in a way, it was.
"Get up," he said. "You'll be late."
"Late for what?"
"Life, apparently."
I gave him a look.
He ignored it.
That's another thing about Tyler—he doesn't respond to emotions. He observes them. Studies them. Use them when necessary.
A man like that doesn't just become cold.
He learns it.
"What happened?" he asked casually, but not casually enough.
Tyler never asks questions without expecting answers.
"I went to her place last night," I said.
"Avni?"
I nodded.
"And?"
I paused.
Because explaining something you don't fully understand is like trying to translate silence.
"There was someone there," I said finally.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Define 'someone.'"
"A figure. Watching. Then gone."
Tyler didn't react immediately.
He processed.
That's what makes him dangerous.
He doesn't jump to conclusions.
He waits for them to reveal themselves.
"And?" he asked again.
"I found a note."
That got his attention.
"What kind of note?"
I looked at him.
"Personal."
"That's not an answer."
"It said… I was late."
Silence.
For a brief moment, even Tyler didn't have something clever to say.
"That's not random," he muttered.
"No," I agreed. "It's not."
He straightened.
The playful tone is gone now.
Replaced by something sharper.
More focused.
"Does Avni know?" he asked.
"I didn't tell her."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't think this is about her."
Tyler stared at me.
Not judging.
Not agreeing.
Just… evaluating.
"Then who is it about?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Because the answer was uncomfortable.
And truth, when it's close enough, tends to be.
"I think…" I began slowly, "whoever this is… they're not watching her."
Tyler tilted his head slightly.
"They're watching you," he completed.
I nodded.
He exhaled.
A quiet, controlled breath.
Then he smiled.
Not the charming smile people fall for.
The other one.
The one that means something is about to break.
"Well," he said, "that's new."
I stood up.
Walked past him toward the window.
The city was already awake.
People moving.
Talking.
Living.
Unaware.
They always are.
"Do you feel threatened?" Tyler asked.
I thought about it.
Carefully.
"No," I said.
He frowned.
"That's a problem."
"I don't feel scared," I corrected. "I feel… observed."
He chuckled lightly.
"That's worse."
"I know."
There was a pause.
Not empty.
Just… heavy.
"So what's the plan?" he asked.
I turned toward him.
"The same as always."
"And what's that?"
"Find the truth."
Tyler smiled again.
This time, it almost looked genuine.
"You always say that like it's a good idea."
"It usually isn't."
"Exactly."
He walked toward the door.
Stopped just before leaving.
"And Harry…"
I looked at him.
"If this turns into something messy…"
"It will," I interrupted.
He smirked.
"Good. I was hoping it would."
And then he left.
Just like that.
As if danger was something to look forward to.
Maybe for him, it was.
I stood there for a while.
Alone again.
But not really.
Because once you realize you're being watched…
you never truly feel alone again.
I picked up my phone.
Scrolled through my contacts.
Paused at her name.
Avni.
For a moment, I considered calling.
Telling her everything.
Warning her.
Or maybe…
testing her.
But something stopped me.
Instinct.
Or doubt.
Sometimes they feel the same.
Instead, another name crossed my mind.
Anna.
Strange.
I barely knew her.
Yet somehow, she felt more real than the person I had spent months with.
Maybe that's the thing about connection.
It doesn't measure time.
It measures understanding.
And some people…
understand you before you even introduce yourself.
I put the phone down.
Walked toward the bookshelf.
Ran my fingers across the spines.
Dostoevsky.
Kafka.
Camus.
Woolf.
All of them tried to explain human nature.
All of them failed.
Because humans don't want to be understood.
They want to be justified.
I pulled out a book randomly.
Crime and Punishment.
Of course.
A story about guilt.
About consequences.
About a man who thought he could outthink morality.
I smiled slightly.
"Let's see who you are," I whispered.
Not to the book.
To the person behind the note.
Because whoever they were—
They had already started writing something.
And somehow…
I was the main character.