“I like you.”
“I’ve had a crush on you for a long time, but I don’t have the courage to tell you.”
“Are you doing okay these days? I really like you.”
Sara’s eyebrows gathered together as she stared at her phone screen. She had posted an anonymous message link on her social media simply out of boredom—but she never expected messages like these.
“A secret admirer? Or just a silly prank…” she sighed.
Still—human nature.
Curiosity got the better of her.
She posted another story along with the questions:
“Whoever you are, please message me directly.”
One minute.
Two minutes.
Three…
A message popped up. Sara opened it almost at light speed.
But it wasn’t from the person she was hoping for—it was her best friend, Dia.
“Someone’s got a secret admirer , Wanna let me guess who it might be?”
Sara could practically see Dia grinning mischievously behind her screen.
“Go ahead, make a guess.”
“Rihan. He always steals glances at you. I think he sent these messages.”
Sara felt her heart flutter. She liked Rihan too, though she never told anyone. The idea of it being him filled her with quiet hope.
“Message him!” Dia urged. “Communication is the key after all !”
Sara nervously typed a message to Rihan and waited impatiently for a reply.
A new notification popped up. Her eyes sparkled—
He replied!
Wait.
No… the number was different.
It wasn’t Rihan.
But what shocked her even more was the content of the message:
“Yes, I’m the one who wrote those messages. Can we meet?”
Sara stared in disbelief. How did this person know? How can she mistakenly message the right person?
She texted Dia first. Her friend’s reply? Classic.
“It must be fate.”
“You have to meet him.”
So now here she was—waiting at a bookstore near her neighborhood.
The man said he would explain everything when they met.
At first, Sara found it suspicious. But again—
curiosity. Human nature.
"What bad could happen just by meeting a person " she mumbled to herself.
He waved at her from across the road. Polite. Well-dressed. Handsome.
Gentleman.
“I’m Ian. Ian Blues.” He looked to be in his mid-twenties. A look of nervousness and shyness covering his face.
“I don’t recognize you. How do you know me?” she asked firmly, trying to sound confident.
That tone made flustered , he replied waving his hands,
“Please don’t misunderstand. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I used to work at the flower shop near your college. I first saw you there. Ever since then, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I found your social media and followed you. I sent the message impulsively—I never thought you’d actually reply.”
He looked sincere. Honest.
“Wanna chat over coffee?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“S-sure.”
We went to a crowded coffee place, the place was far from her neighbourhood.
He was kind—reserved a table, ordered for them, brought the coffee to table and paid the bill.
Sara found herself relaxing, even smiling. His responsibility and maturity reflected in his actions.
Not bad for a person, she considered giving him a chance, only if he has proper explanation. Sara thought in her head.
“By the way,” he asked, “how did you know it was me who messaged you?”
She panicked. I messaged you by mistake—she couldn’t say that.
“Women’s intuition.”
His face twitched with surprise… but he smiled. Beautifully.
She watched his smilling innocent face, while sipping her coffee.
---
“Where… am I?”
A dim room.
Dull yellow bulb.
Ropes on her hands and feet.
She tried to move—only to fall.
The metal door creaked open.
Her heart raced.
Ian.
Terror took over her body.
He approached slowly, then gently sat her up on the bed. She was frozen in place.
“Why am I here?! What do you want?” she cried, trembling.
“Don’t cry, my love. Don’t you know why I brought you here?”
His voice—twisted. His expression—menacing.
She wanted to run.
“You’re disgusting,” he growled.
“Girls like you are all the same. You have the same eyes… the same hair… like her.”
He pulled her hair violently and slammed her onto the floor.
Panic. Screams inside her head.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about! I don’t even know you!”
“Liar.”
“You met that friend of yours. You said you were coworkers—but I saw how close you were.”
“I was angry. That’s why I killed you the first time.”
“So why did you come back?”
Her mind went blank.
Murderer. Psychopath.
He threw furniture. Slammed doors. Approached her again, panic took over her mind.
---
Bright lights.
White Curtains.
Bandages on her hands, neck… legs. She was in hospital.
Oh , she couldn't move her left leg.
Slowly the door opened of the ward.
Dia was there—crying, apologizing.
Sara wept in relief.
Later, the police explained: Ian had committed similar crimes in different states.
It was kept hidden—an internal case to avoid mass panic.
Sara remembered only one thing clearly:
“You messaged me by mistake… and opened the door for me to kill you. It must be fate. You were the culprit all along, I was right about finishing you back then.”
The panic attacks remained. So did the scars.
And as for how she survived—
It was because Dia and she always shared their location before going anywhere.
That instinct saved her.
How could Sara blame her friend, when no one could’ve seen this coming?
After all—
It was a result of messaging the wrong person.
---
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