Someone Has Been Here...

I didn't open the door.

I don't know how long I sat there, staring at my phone, listening to the silence on the other side.

Eventually, the knocking stopped.

I waited another few minutes before I finally got up.

I walked towards the door and looked through the peephole.

There was no one there.

The corridor was empty.

I checked the security camera on my phone.

Nothing.

No one had been standing outside my apartment.

I watched the footage again.

And again.

There was only me, sitting inside, staring at the door.

I felt a strange sense of relief.

Maybe I really was losing my mind.

I went back to the kitchen and looked at the two cups of tea.

One was still warm.

I stared at them for a long time.

Maybe all of it had been nothing more than a tired mind filling the gaps between dreams and reality.

I picked up my phone again.

The messages were still there.

Don't open the door.

“It's your mother. Don't open the door. I'm still on my way.”

And then the message from my parents' number:

We're coming, Anira. You asked us to.

I called my mother.

She answered after several rings.

“Anira?”

“Amma... did you send me a message last night?”

There was a pause.

“What message?”

I opened the conversation.

“We're coming, Anira. You asked us to.”

Another silence.

“Anira, I haven't sent you anything. We were asleep.”

I looked at the screen.

My heart began beating faster.

I checked the unknown number.

There was no profile picture.

No name.

I tried calling it.

The call didn't go through.

I tried opening the number again.

This account is no longer available on WhatsApp.

I stared at the screen.

For some reason, that made me feel better.

There was an explanation.

Maybe the number had been temporary.

Maybe someone had played a cruel prank on me.

Maybe I had been half asleep and imagined parts of the conversation.

Perhaps I had been dreaming about my parents so intensely that my exhausted mind had blurred the line between what I wanted to happen and what actually happened.

It made sense.

Almost.

But the message from my parents' phone?

It said that they were coming because I had asked them to.

I almost called them again to ask about it... But then, on second thought, I opened the conversation again.

There had been no contact for the past several months. Just one call log lasting 17 minutes, followed by that one message.

Argh.

Then why had she said that we had never talked?

I was almost furious.

I decided to check their number in my contacts as well. The name appeared as Amma-Abu, exactly as I had saved it from the beginning.

But the number...

It was my very own number.

I stared at the screen.

What did that even mean?

Had I been calling myself?

But that wasn't possible. The phone didn't even allow me to call my own number like that.

What on earth was happening?

And yet...

I had just called them.

And my mother had answered.

I decided to sleep again. I was too numb to think or make any sense of whatever was happening.

When I woke up several hours later, the sun was already down the horizon.

For the first time in days, my mind felt clear.

I laughed quietly at myself.

I had been imagining things.

That was all.

I went to the kitchen to make some tea.

There was only one cup on the counter.

I smiled.

See?

One cup.

I must have made the second one myself.

I filled the kettle and turned it on.

Then I noticed something written on the kitchen window.

My stomach tightened.

I stepped closer.

It was written in the condensation on the glass.

We missed you too.

I stood completely still.

I hadn't written it.

I was sure of that.

Then I heard it.

A soft clink behind me.

The sound of a cup being placed on the table.

I slowly turned around.

There were two cups of tea on the table.

And from somewhere behind me, came a whisper.

“Anira...”

I didn't move.

I couldn't.

Because this time, I knew I was awake.

Then my phone buzzed.

I looked down.

A new message had appeared.

From my parents' number.

We're here.

I looked towards the front door.

It was still locked.

Then, from inside the apartment, someone whispered again.

“Open the door.”

And suddenly I understood.

The person outside had never been the one I needed to be afraid of...

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_{Link to Part 1}

_{Link to Part 2}