The sidewalk outside glowed amber beneath the streetlamps. The evening air had settled into something hushed – that quiet hour when the day still lingered in corners, even as the night had already begun to gather. The city carried the muted hum of passing tram bells, muffled conversations drifting from nearby balconies, and the soft wheeze of tired bicycles locked up for the night.

The group filtered out of Maya and Kian’s apartment, laughter trailing behind them like an aftertaste. The pavement felt warm beneath Aria’s soles. Unhurried hugs and teasing goodbyes followed, soft and lingering at the edges of their night.

“It’s been too long,” Aria said softly, her voice brushing with warmth. “How’s everything been?”

Kian smiled at her, eyes soft. “Busy, but better now. You?”

She just nodded, and he nudged her shoulder like an older brother would before turning away and ducking back inside with a lazy wave.

Aria lingered by the front steps, arms crossed loosely, half-listening as Maya and Reyhaan exchanged a final few words. Tuffy swayed slightly in Maya’s arms – the cat flattened against her like she had somewhere more important to be. The sky had gone charcoal-grey. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the way Reyhaan stood leaning against a rail nearby, backpack loosely hung over one shoulder – relaxed, but present. One hand in his pocket, the other gesturing softly as he responded to Maya.

Aria adjusted her bag over her shoulder and glanced up the road.

And paused.

Something shifted.

The air turned thinner – or maybe it was just her breath catching.

Just across the street – a corner where the building curved slightly inward, where the alleyway began – someone stood. Half-silhouetted. Still.

They were half-tucked behind the wall, one shoulder leaning into the stone. The light from the lamppost nearby caught a faint glint of metal – and a shape she recognized.

A camera, slung low across the body. Not lifted. Simply there.

They weren’t doing anything.

Just standing.

Not walking. Not photographing.

She tried to catch their face. But the angle made it difficult. She couldn’t tell if they were looking at her or through her or past her. Hair fell across their forehead, obscuring any expression. The shadows softened the rest. The figure didn’t move – not toward her, not away. Just… waited.

Or watched?

A breath caught in her throat.

Aria blinked – and they were gone.

No footsteps. No shift of gravel. No rustle of fabric.

Nothing.

Just absence.

A chill threaded down her spine – subtle, strange.

It might’ve been nothing. It probably was.

Yet her hand tightened slightly on her bag strap.

Something in her gut tugged – not fear exactly, but a prickle of knowing. The kind that lingers long after logic explains it away.

Maya returned beside her just then. “You good?”

Her voice – casual, not worried.

Aria hesitated as she turned. “I thought I saw someone,” she said after a beat, nodding toward the alley. “Just over there. Looked like he had a camera.”

Maya followed her line of sight, eyes narrowing for a second. Then she let out a soft, dismissive breath, pulling Tuffy closer to her chest. “Oh – probably that’s the guy from upstairs. Third floor. Photographer. Weird schedule. He’s always floating around the building, taking artsy shots of doorframes or cracks in the pavement or whatever else his lens catches.”

“Right.” Aria offered a quiet breath of a laugh. “Makes sense.”

But something in her chest didn’t quite settle.

She tried to brush it off. Let it go. Just a guy with a camera. Maya would know. The city had people like that – artists, wanderers.

“It’s probably him,” Maya added, brushing hair out of her face. “He doesn’t talk much. But harmless.”

Harmless. Maybe.

Aria nodded to herself, shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She could let it go.

And she might’ve –

Until it came again – soft, unmistakable.

The sound.

A faint metallic clink. Not loud. But distinct, like keys brushing against something – familiar in a way she couldn’t place.

Aria stiffened.

And this time, she wasn’t the only one.

From her right, she caught a flicker of movement – Reyhaan, who had been leaning near the stair rail a few feet away, now stood straighter, eyes scanning the same direction she had just looked toward.

His fingers stilled where they had been adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. His gaze was sharp, searching, head tilted toward the sound.

His eyes scanned the street for a second too long.

Then he looked away.

Not at her. Not at Maya.

Just away.

He didn’t say anything.

She wondered if he was just reacting to her reaction. Or if he too heard it.

Their eyes met briefly when he glanced her way. Neither said anything.

Maybe he thought she hadn’t heard it.

Maybe he assumed she’d been watching him instead.

Maybe they were both thinking the same thing: If the other had noticed.

Still, Aria’s fingers curled tighter around the strap of her tote as she looked down at her feet.

Probably. But the thought didn’t leave.

She turned toward the street just as Reyhaan shifted toward her.

“You sure you don’t want a ride?” he asked, his voice soft enough that it felt meant just for her.

Her pulse snagged, just a little. The way his voice folded around the offer – calm, no pressure. Like he meant it. Like he always did.

And for a second, she almost nodded. Part of her wanted to say yes.

But the awareness in her – of everything she hadn’t said yet, the weight of it, her gaze earlier when she’d looked at him for too long – made her hesitate. She didn’t trust her voice – or her eyes – not to give her away. The space between them still felt newly fragile. And she wasn’t sure her eyes would behave if she sat that close.

“I’m okay,” she said gently. “I want to walk a little anyway. I’ve been indoors all day.”

Aria offered him a small smile – not entirely convincing, but enough. “Thanks, though.”

Reyhaan nodded once. He didn’t press.

Behind them, Maya was already unlocking the front door. “Text when you get home,” she called over her shoulder. Tuffy leapt from her arms with a disgruntled chirp and vanished inside.

Aria promised she would.

As she turned to leave, she glanced back once – out of instinct. Reyhaan was still standing there, looking once more down the street. Like something still tugged at the edge of his focus.

And for a second, she wondered if it was the sound that unsettled him too – or if it was her walking away.

She turned away, pace even, heart oddly unsettled.

She didn’t look back, but she heard the quiet click of Maya’s door shutting.

Behind her, a car passed. A dog barked once, far off. The air settled again.

And as she passed the corner, the faint jingle returned – quiet but deliberate. Like the echo of a presence just out of sight. Just out of reach.

No footsteps. No figure. Just the sound.

She didn’t know what it meant. Not yet. But it stayed with her – like something waiting to be noticed.

Aria had just changed into a loose cotton tee and pajama bottoms, her hair still damp from the shower, when her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Papa

She blinked – it was late for them to call.

She curled into the corner of her bed, swiping to answer. Her mother’s face appeared on-screen – warm, slightly tilted, trying to center herself in the frame.

“Aru, you picked up! See?” her mother beamed, the camera wobbling as she adjusted it with the endearing clumsiness of their usual late-night calls. “We thought you must’ve slept.”

“I could say the same.” Aria smiled, tugging her blanket over her knees. “It’s almost eleven there.”

Her mother shrugged, squinting at the screen. “Your father’s still pacing in the living room. I said, At least let me call now before she goes off-grid again.”

From the background came the unmistakable sound of a cupboard shutting. Then: “I wasn’t pacing. Also, it’s almost night there – how is she still up?” her father’s voice floated in. A moment later, he appeared on the screen, slightly off-center.

“It’s only eight here, Papa,” Aria murmured.

Her mother smiled, passing the phone. “You take over. I’m going to check the gas.”

Aria watched her mother disappear, the screen briefly swinging toward a ceiling fan before steadying on her father’s face.

“How’s everything?” he asked. “Work okay? Are you eating properly?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Everything’s okay. Today was... actually a good day.”

“How’s the new office? Still too many meetings?”

“A few – but today wasn’t too bad,” she replied, settling back against her headboard. “I caught up on edits. Took the long tram back.”

Her father nodded. “Cold there?”

“Windy,” she said. “But it’s getting better.”

They spoke for a few minutes – bits and pieces. She asked him how work was and whether the garden had finally been cleared of the bougainvillea vines. Her father asked about groceries, her commute, and whether she’d figured out how the heating system worked in the new apartment. Her mother returned a while later, asked if the washing machine was finally behaving. Her father mentioned that the neighbor’s son was moving to Canada, “the one with the dog that barked every time we walked past.”

Aria watched the two of them ease into their rhythm like they were back in their kitchen. Their night was winding down, and hers was still stretching ahead.

Then her father said it, casually, but not without weight.

“We’ve been thinking... maybe we’ll visit a little earlier than planned.”

Aria looked up. “Earlier?”

Her father nodded. “Your mother’s been on about remodeling the living room before Diwali. So we thought – instead of just staying in the dust while that’s happening... maybe we’d use the time and come see you.”

He paused, then added more gently,

“End of July, if that works for you?”

Aria blinked slowly.

She’d only just moved to Rotterdam a few weeks ago. Before this, she was in Amsterdam for years, and still, they’d never made the trip. The plan had always been sometime in winter. When flights were cheaper. When things were… more settled. They had always waited for her to return. But now, for the first time, they were coming to her.

This – this was different.

She felt the pause lodge in her throat. She couldn’t tell if it was relief – or something quieter, more unsettled.

She smiled automatically. “Okay. Yeah. That could be... nice.”

Her father’s expression softened, as if relieved. “We’ll let you know once we look at tickets. We won’t stay too long – just a week or so.”

“Okay,” she said. “Let me know what dates.”

Her mother’s voice floated in from off-screen. “Tell her I’ll bring the red bedsheet, the warm one!”

“She heard,” her father called back, amused. Then into the phone: “Okay, we’ll go. Sleep on time. No need to do that thing where you imagine twenty versions of next week.”

“I won’t,” Aria murmured, even though she already was.

They hung up a minute later, her father promising to message flight ideas by tomorrow.

The screen went black.

Aria sat still for a moment, her phone resting loosely in her hand.

Outside, the sky had cooled into deep blue, like pressed velvet. A plane blinked across it. From a distance, a tram rumbled past.

A breeze slipped through the cracked window. The smell of something faint and metallic – rain, maybe – lingered in the air.

They were coming.

She looked around her room – dim and quiet and hers in a way few places had ever been. The desk lamp hummed faintly. The shadows stretched long against the wooden floor.

It wasn’t fear that moved through her.

But something more complex.

Like the knowledge of a tide turning – soft, inevitable.

A quiet threshold.

Her hand lingered on the edge of the bedsheet – the budget one from the supermarket last week.

She reached out and switched off the bedside lamp. The room folded into blue.

She didn’t know what it meant yet – only that it would change something. Maybe even her.