Chapter 1
The balcony was too quiet for a Saturday evening. I sat curled into the beanbag, bare feet tucked beneath me, a mug of coffee warming my palms. The steam rised in soft ghosts, dissolving into the pale sky. Below, the street humed faintly, distant engines, a barking dog, someone dragging a bin across concrete.
On the small glass table in front of me sat the box.
Plain. Brown. No name. No return address. I found it on my doorstep earlier when I got back from buying coffee. It wasn’t heavy. It didn’t rattle. But my hands had still trembled when I carried it inside.
I set it down carefully, like it might explode from being handled too roughly. When I finally peeled back the tape. Empty. Nothing inside and somehow that made it worse.
I lifted the box now, turning it over again as if something might magically appear. The flaps gaped open like a silent mouth. A prank?? A warning?? A mistake??
My mind drifted to him, to the past I keep trying to outrun. To secrets wrapped tighter than packing tape. To guilt that doesn’t fade just because time passed. Empty. Or was it??
I glanced towards my front door. Was someone watching when I opened it?? Was someone watching now?? A chill sliced under my skin despite the room feeling warm. Then I was less scared than I am now. I am seated here to try and make sense of it all.
I took a sip of the coffee, but it tasted different, bitter, metallic. My pulse tapped against my throat. An empty box could mean nothing. Or it could mean: I can reach you.
A sudden sound from inside my apartment, a soft click. Like a door settling. Or something being placed carefully on a table. I froze. The balcony no longer felt like fresh air. It felt exposed. The box shifted slightly in the breeze, one flap lifting and falling.
Empty.
Just like the answers I didn’t have.
~~~
I woke with the feeling that something wasn’t right.
It took a second to remember why. The box. My eyes snapped open. Pale morning light bleed through the curtains, softer than last night’s blue-gray dusk. For a moment I convinced myself it was a dream, the balcony, the empty box, the way my heart wouldn’t settle.
I swing my legs off the bed and headed for the kitchen, determined to reclaim something normal. Tea. Routine. Control. The machine hummed. The smell filled the air. Safe. Ordinary. Then it hit me. The box. I don’t remember bringing it inside.
The mug was still half-full when I set it down too hard, liquid sloshing over the rim. I rushed towards the balcony doors, my pulse already climbing. The curtain flew aside. The balcony was empty.
The small glass table stood exactly where it was. The beanbag slightly angled towards the railing. But the box, gone. My breath caught. I stepped outside slowly, as if the air itself might shatter. I scanned the floor. The corners. The railing. Nothing. No cardboard. No tape. No sign it was ever there.
But something was.
A single piece of paper laid flat on the table, held in place by my empty coffee mug from last night. My stomach dropped. I approached like I was walking towards a cliff’s edge. The handwriting was neat. Careful.
“You looked beautiful drinking that coffee last night.”
The world tilted. Last night. I was alone. I swallowed hard and looked up, across the street, to the neighboring balconies, to the dark windows of the building opposite mine. Every window suddenly felt like an eye. Every shadow like a person standing just out of sight.
My skin prickled.
They weren’t just at my door.
They were watching me.
Watching me sit.
Watching me hold the mug.
Watching me breathe.
My mind raced. How long?? From where?? Are they close?? Are they inside?? The front door. I spun around and hurried back inside, checking the lock. Still latched. Chain in place. Windows shut. Everything looked normal. Too normal.
My phone trembled in my hand as I picked it up, but I hesitated. What would I even say??
Someone left me an empty box and watched me drink coffee??
I glanced back towards the balcony. The paper fluttered in the breeze like it was alive.
“You looked beautiful…”
Not threatening.
Not kind.
Just intimate.
Too intimate.
And suddenly, being alone in my own apartment felt like standing in the middle of an open field with nowhere to hide. Then suddenly a faint creak sounded from somewhere in the building hallway outside my door. I stopped breathing.
~~~
Feeling too suffocated, I didn’t even change my clothes.I just grabbed my keys. My phone. My bag.
I couldn’t breathe in that apartment anymore. Every wall felt like it had ears. Every shadow felt occupied.
I stepped into the hallway and locked the door behind me, twice then tested the handle. My fingers shook so badly I almost dropped my keys. The corridor felt longer than usual. The lights hummed faintly overhead. Too quiet.
The elevator waited at the end. Closed. Still I hesitated. It suddenly felt like a metal coffin.
What if someone was inside?? What if it stopped between floors?? What if??
I pressed the button anyway. The soft ding made me flinch. The doors slide open slowly, like a mouth. Empty. I stepped in, keeping my back to the wall, eyes scanning the mirrored panels. My reflection startled me, hair messy, eyes wide, skin pale.
I look unhinged. Like someone who hasn’t slept. Like someone who saw something they shouldn’t have. The doors began to close. Too slow. I jabbed the “close” button repeatedly, my heart racing as the gap narrowed inch by inch. For a split second I imagined a hand slipping through, stopping them. But they sealed shut.
The descent felt endless. Every mechanical sound made me jump. The confined space pressed in around me. I swear I could still smell last night’s coffee. Or maybe cardboard. Or maybe fear had a scent and it’s mine.
When the doors finally opened in the lobby, I almost bolted out. Outside, the morning air hit my face. It should have felt freeing. It didn’t. I walked fast, too fast glancing over my shoulder, scanning passing faces.
A man sitting on the curb looked up at me and I immediately looked away. A woman across the street adjusted her sunglasses and I wondered if she was watching.
I must have looked strange, eyes darting, movements stiff. Somewhere between a hobo and a freak. That’s what I felt like. Untethered. Unstable.
I reached the coffee shop and pushed through the door. The bell above it chimed brightly, offensively cheerful. Warm light. Music. The smell of pastries.
Normal people.
Immediately I entered, I was greeted by a smiling Tiago, short for Santiago, the guy that works at the café and was too loud for my own liking but I took a liking to him as I spend most of my days being served by him.
"Who are we mourning today??" He asked with a smile when he saw the tired look on my face because the fvcker knew how I hated smiles when am feeling down. Instead of replying, all I could do was smile like I was forced cause I was so out of it.
Thankfully, Tiago was that one friend I never knew I needed but was really greatful for having because I would have gone crazy without him. He knew when to shut up and when to pester me with questions.
As I sat down on the bar stool Tiago tried to get words out of me but the only reply he got out of me was "I have seen better days." He knew right away that I was in no mood to talk but to drink coffee.
He knew my order by heart so he got me that and I was out of the door in less than 7 minutes, not before saying goodbye and promising to chill later.
I would have picked a table with my back to the wall
where I could see the door. The counter. The windows. But walking sounded like a better plan. I wrapped my hands around a new cup of coffee even though I didn’t want it. I just didn’t want to go home.
The thought hit me slowly. If they watched me last night… What was stopping them from watching me now??
~~~
I shouldn’t have left the coffee shop. I know that now. The street felt too loud, too bright. I walked without really seeing, replaying the note in my mind, the curve of the handwriting, the word beautiful.
My fingers tightened around the warm paper cup like it was the only solid thing in the world.
“You looked beautiful…”
I didn’t notice the shadow in front of me until it was too late. I collided hard into something solid.
Coffee splashing forward, hot liquid soaking into dark fabric. The cup crumpling in my hand as I stumbled back, heart launching into my throat.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry” I started, panic flaring all over again. I lifted my head. And the world… paused. He was tall. Close enough that I could smell something clean and expensive, cedar, maybe. His shirt was damp where the coffee hit, but he didn’t seem angry. Dark hair slightly wind-tousled. Sharp jaw. Eyes that caught min3 and held them.
Not just handsome.
Striking. I forgot, briefly, how to breathe.
He glanced down at the spreading stain on his shirt, then back at me. And instead of irritation, he laughed, low and warm.
“Watch where you’re going,” he said, not harsh. Almost amused. There was something about the way he looked at me that made my pulse skip, like he saw more than just the clumsy stranger who drenched him in coffee.
“I— I wasn’t paying attention,” I managed, cheeks burning. “I’m really sorry. I can pay for that. The dry cleaning, I mean.”
He waved it off casually. “It’s just coffee.” But his eyes lingered. Not in a crude way. Not exactly.
Studying. I suddenly become aware of everything, my messy hair, my tense posture, the way my fingers were still trembling. Did he notice?? Did he see that I am not just distracted, I'm afraid??
“You okay??” he asked, tilting his head slightly.
The question catching me off guard. Am I??
My mind flashed back to the empty balcony. The missing box. The note. I forced a small nod. “Yeah. Just… a rough morning.”
He considered me for a second longer than normal politeness allowed. His gaze flicked past me briefly scanning the street then returned.
“Well,” he said lightly, stepping back, “try not to take out any more innocent pedestrians.”
There was a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. And for the first time since I woke up, my fear shifted just slightly into something else. Curiosity.
As he moved to walk past me, my heart pounded again. I couldn’t tell if it was because he’s handsome … Or because, for a split second when I crashed into him, I could have sworn he already knew who I was.
He walked a few steps away. And I was still standing there, clutching the crushed cup, trying to steady my breathing. People moved around me in a blur, but the world felt narrowed like everything was happening inside a tunnel.
He reached the corner. For a second, I thought that was it. Then he slowed. Stopped and turned back. My stomach flipped. From that distance, the morning light caught him differently, sharper. Intentional. He looked at me like he’d made a decision.
“You can have coffee with me some day,” he called out, voice carrying easily over the street noise. “To pay for the shirt.”
Shock flooded my face before I could control it. Coffee. The word landed wrong. My mind flashed to the balcony. The note. I looked beautiful drinking that coffee last night.
My heart stuttered. Was this coincidence?? It had to be. Plenty of people say coffee. It’s normal. Casual. Harmless. But my pulse didn’t agree.
He noticed my expression, the way I have gone pale instead of flustered and a small crease formed between his brows. Curious. Measuring.
“It’s just coffee,” he added, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “I promise I don’t bite.” The attempt at humor hanged in the air. My thoughts raced.
Was he just a stranger flirting?? Or... Stop. I'm spiraling. Not every man is watching me from balconies. Not every invitation is a threat.
Right?? He waited. Not impatient. Not pushing. Just watching to see what I'd do.
And suddenly the street felt very still again. I realized I haven’t answered. My mouth parted slightly, but no words came out. Because I didn’t know which possibility scared me more. That he was involved or that he wasn’t.
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I hope you loved the first chapter and please don't be shy to give feedback in the comments but don't be too harsh I might collapse.
What do you think Catalina will do to find mr pay for spilling coffee on me and who do you think is stalking our little girl??
X: @themelanophile
IG: @themelanophile
