|CHASING VERONICA|

|CHAPTER TWO|

As she lay in her bed, scrolling through her phone, her mind ran back and forth on her recent days.

'Are you coming to class tomorrow?' ~ Sarah.

A pending message on her phone, she replied with a yes before keeping her phone down and turning off the big lamp next to her.

Her eyes drifted to the window. The streetlights cast long, distorted shadows on the wet pavement below. She strained her ears, listening for any unusual sound beyond the rain. Nothing. Just the occasional swoosh of a car passing through puddles.

“Paranoia,” she finally murmured, trying to convince herself. But what if it’s not?

The thought struck her like a jolt of electricity. What if this was real, and she was brushing it off as nothing? She shivered again, a mix of frustration and fear bubbling inside her. If only she could go back to the days when her biggest worry was an unfinished assignment or a misplaced book at the thrift shop.

Rolling onto her stomach, Veronica grabbed her phone. Her finger hovered over Sarah’s contact for a moment before she shook her head and put it down again. It was late. Calling her now would only invite more questions. Besides, what would she even say? There’s this guy who’s just... there. He hasn’t done anything, but it feels wrong.

She let out another sigh, flipping her pillow over to the cool side. Tomorrow, she decided. I’ll watch for him again. Maybe confront him. Or... maybe I’ll just stay inside.

As the rain continued to patter against the glass, Veronica closed her eyes, her mind buzzing with unresolved questions. In the corner of her consciousness, she swore she could feel a pair of unseen eyes watching her through the dark.

One evening, as Veronica stepped into the thrift shop, she couldn't help but wonder who the persistent observer was. As the days went by, the guy's presence added a new dimension to her life, a mysterious thread weaving its way into her world.

The rain had eased to a faint drizzle by the time Veronica finally felt the pull of sleep begin to take hold. She clutched her blanket tighter, her mind still a battleground of questions and uneasy resolutions. It’s fine. He’s probably just some weirdo. Tomorrow will be normal, she thought, trying to will herself into believing it.

But the gnawing unease refused to let go. Every creak of the apartment seemed amplified, every gust of wind against the window sharper. Her mind kept replaying the man's presence at the coffee shop, then at the thrift store. She’d seen him too often for it to be coincidence. Or had she?

Her thoughts spiraled. What if it wasn’t real? she wondered, a chill crawling up her spine. What if I just imagined it? The questions left her torn between relief and something darker—fear of losing control.

She sat up abruptly, her heart pounding. "Get it together," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the silence of the apartment. But she couldn’t shake the growing paranoia.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering the fragile stillness. She flinched, fumbling for it with trembling hands. A notification lit up the screen: an email from her professor about the assignment deadline. She sighed, a momentary wave of relief washing over her, though her unease lingered.

She leaned back against the headboard, her eyes darting to the window. The curtains were drawn, but the faint glow of the streetlamp outside seeped through the fabric. She imagined his shadow against the glass, his figure lurking just out of sight.

Stop it, she told herself, clutching the blanket tighter. He doesn’t know where you live. He’s not here. The rational part of her brain tried to take hold, reminding her of the busy streets she’d walked to get home, the absence of footsteps following her, the reassuring lock of her apartment door.

Still, the feeling wouldn’t leave. Her mind conjured images of him waiting outside, leaning against his bike, staring up at her window. Her pulse quickened at the thought. No. You’re being ridiculous.

The rain had stopped now, leaving only the faint sound of water dripping from the eaves. The silence felt oppressive, pressing against her like a weight. She strained her ears for any sound that didn’t belong—a creak, a knock, anything.

And then she heard it.

A soft tap against the glass.

Her breath hitched, and her heart raced. She froze, her eyes locked on the curtain. The sound came again, faint but deliberate, a gentle rhythm that made her stomach churn.

It’s just the rain, she told herself, but the rain had stopped.

Slowly, as if in a trance, she slid out of bed, her bare feet brushing against the cold floor. She crept toward the window, her pulse hammering in her ears. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the curtain, hesitating just inches away.

With a sharp intake of breath, she yanked the curtain aside.

The street below was empty. The pale glow of the flickering streetlamp illuminated nothing but wet pavement and the faint outlines of parked cars. No figure. No movement. Just the quiet stillness of the night.

She exhaled shakily, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. "You’re losing it, Veronica," she muttered, a weak laugh escaping her lips.

The tap came again.

Her eyes darted downward, and she saw the culprit: a loose branch swaying in the breeze, its end brushing against the window in soft, intermittent beats.

A flood of relief and embarrassment washed over her. "Of course," she muttered, shaking her head. She pulled the curtain closed and climbed back into bed, the warmth of the blankets a small comfort against the lingering tension in her chest.

Still, as she stared up at the ceiling, a thought lingered in the back of her mind. Maybe the guy wasn’t following her. Maybe she’d imagined it all. But the idea of him, his gaze, his presence—it was burned into her thoughts, impossible to shake.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to sleep. Yet, even as her breathing slowed and her body relaxed, a sliver of doubt remained, whispering in the corners of her mind.

What if this paranoia was just the beginning?