Sarah was halfway through her second drink when she spotted Michelle weaving through the crowd. Her friend's vibrant red hair was unmistakable, even in the dim lighting of the bar. Michelle waved enthusiastically, followed by a tall man Sarah recognized as Jake, Michelle's boyfriend of six months. Behind him was a third person—presumably Chris.

  "Sorry we're so late!" Michelle leaned in for a hug, the familiar scent of her jasmine perfume momentarily comforting. "Surgery ran over, then Jake had paperwork, and the subway was a nightmare."

  "No problem. I've been catching up on some work emails." Sarah gestured to her phone, the lie coming easily. She hadn't touched the device since placing it face down, afraid of what new messages might be waiting.

  "Sarah, you remember Jake," Michelle said, as Jake offered a warm smile and a quick one-armed hug.

  "Good to see you again," he said.

  "And this," Michelle continued with unmistakable matchmaking enthusiasm, "is Chris Donovan. New trauma surgeon at Metropolitan. Chris, this is Sarah Prescott, graphic design genius and my best friend since college."

  Chris extended his hand. He was tall—maybe six-two—with dark hair and the kind of strong jawline that belonged in medical dramas. His eyes were a striking blue against his olive skin.

  "Michelle's been talking about you non-stop," he said with a smile that revealed perfect teeth. "Apparently, I should have met you months ago, but I was finishing up a fellowship in Boston."

  Sarah shook his hand, aware of Michelle's hopeful gaze. "Nice to meet you. Don't believe everything she tells you."

  "Only the good parts, then?" His voice had a pleasant timbre, deep and steady.

  A waiter approached, and they ordered a round of drinks. Sarah felt herself relaxing slightly as Michelle launched into a story about a patient who had come into the ER with a remote control stuck in an unfortunate place. The normalcy of the moment—friends, laughter, the background hum of the bar—pushed back the shadows that had been gathering around her all day.

  "So, Sarah," Chris said when the laughter subsided, "Michelle says you work for Meridian. They did that incredible campaign for the New York Symphony last year, right?"

  "That was my project, actually," Sarah replied, surprised. "You follow advertising?"

  "My sister's in the industry. She's always sending me campaigns she thinks are brilliant. That one made her jealous for weeks."

  Sarah felt a small glow of pride. The Symphony campaign had been her breakthrough project, the one that had finally earned her Marcus's reluctant respect.

  The conversation flowed easily. Chris was intelligent and attentive, asking questions about her work and sharing stories from his residency days. Under other circumstances, Sarah might have been interested. He was exactly the type of man Michelle had been trying to set her up with for months—successful, kind, conventionally handsome.

  But the warmth of the social interaction couldn't fully dispel the cold knot of anxiety in Sarah's stomach. Every few minutes, her eyes drifted to the door, scanning the new arrivals. Every time a phone buzzed at a nearby table, she tensed.

  "You okay?" Michelle asked quietly while Jake and Chris were at the bar ordering another round. "You seem distracted."

  Sarah hesitated. The strange events of the day sounded so minor when taken individually. A moved photo frame. Missing strawberries. A weird text. But collectively, they formed a pattern that felt increasingly sinister.

  "I've been getting some strange texts," she finally said, reaching for her phone. "From a number I don't recognize."

  She turned the phone over, steeling herself against whatever might be waiting. Three new messages glowed on the screen.

  *You shouldn't have ordered that second drink, Sarah. You know it makes you careless.*

  *That blue blouse brings out your eyes. Better than the green one you almost wore.*

  *He's not good enough for you.*

  Sarah's hand trembled as she showed the phone to Michelle, whose expression shifted from concern to alarm.

  "What the actual fuck?" Michelle whispered. "How long has this been happening?"

  "Just today. The first one came when I was in the cab on the way here."

  Michelle took the phone, reading the messages again. "How would they know what you almost wore? Sarah, this is seriously creepy."

  "I know." Sarah glanced around the bar again. "I've been feeling like someone's watching me all day. I found my keys in a weird place this morning, things moved around my apartment..."

  "Have you called the police?"

  "And tell them what? 'Someone knows what shirt I almost wore'? They'd laugh me out of the station."

  Michelle's face hardened. "Maybe. But you need to document everything. Take screenshots. Keep a log of anything weird that happens." She hesitated. "You don't think it could be David, do you? Some kind of twisted revenge thing?"

  "David's in Seattle for that tech conference. Has been all week." The thought had crossed Sarah's mind, but she'd dismissed it. David was a cheater, not a stalker.

  "You should stay with me tonight," Michelle said decisively. "I don't like the idea of you going home alone."

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Before Sarah could respond, Jake and Chris returned with fresh drinks. Chris slid into the seat beside Sarah, his expression concerned.

  "Everything okay? You two look serious."

  "Work stuff," Michelle lied smoothly. "Sarah's dealing with a difficult client."

  Chris nodded, accepting the explanation without pressing further. "Those are the worst. I have a patient right now who insists that all his procedures be done on even-numbered days because odd numbers are 'unlucky.' Try scheduling surgery around that."

  The conversation shifted to hospital stories, but Sarah found it increasingly difficult to focus. Every laugh felt forced, every smile a mask. When she excused herself to use the restroom, Michelle squeezed her arm in silent support.

  The bathroom was at the back of the bar, down a narrow hallway lined with vintage concert posters. Sarah pushed through the door, relieved to find it empty. She leaned against the sink, staring at her reflection in the spotted mirror. Her face looked drawn, eyes too bright with tension.

  She splashed cold water on her wrists, a trick her mother had taught her for calming nerves. Three deep breaths in, three out. The restroom door swung open, and Sarah straightened, composing her features into a neutral expression.

  An older woman with gray-streaked hair entered, nodding briefly before stepping into a stall. Sarah dried her hands and reached for the door, then paused as her phone buzzed again. With a growing sense of dread, she checked the screen.

  *Blue soap dispenser, chipped tile by the third stall, paper towel roll almost empty. You look scared, Sarah.*

  Her head jerked up, scanning the small bathroom. There were no cameras visible, no way for anyone to see inside this space. The older woman emerged from the stall, washing her hands beside Sarah, who stood frozen, staring at her phone.

  "Are you all right, dear?" the woman asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

  "Yes, fine, thank you," Sarah managed, hurrying out the door.

  Back at the table, she slid the phone to Michelle without a word, watching her friend's eyes widen as she read the message.

  "We're leaving," Michelle announced abruptly, gathering her purse. "Sarah's not feeling well."

  Jake looked surprised but didn't argue. Chris stood immediately, genuine concern on his face.

  "Can I help? I am a doctor, you know." His attempt at humor fell flat against the palpable tension.

  "Just a migraine," Sarah lied, avoiding his eyes. "I get them sometimes. I just need to lie down."

  "I'll drive you home," Michelle said. "Jake, you can catch a ride with Chris, right?"

  Jake nodded, looking between the two women with growing suspicion that something more was happening. "Sure. Feel better, Sarah."

  "I hope it passes quickly," Chris added, slipping a business card onto the table. "My cell's on there. If you'd like to grab coffee sometime when you're feeling better..."

  Sarah pocketed the card automatically, barely registering the gesture. Everything felt distant and muffled, as though she were underwater. Michelle gripped her elbow, guiding her through the crowded bar toward the exit.

  Outside, the night air was cool against Sarah's flushed face. Michelle flagged down a passing cab, giving the driver her address without consulting Sarah.

  "I told you, you're staying with me tonight," she said firmly as they slid into the backseat. "No arguments."

  Sarah nodded, too exhausted to protest. As the cab pulled away from the curb, she looked back at the bar's entrance. Jake and Chris stood outside, watching them leave. And behind them, partially hidden in the shadow of a neighboring building, stood a figure in a dark coat.

  It might have been anyone—a patron stepping out for air, a passerby—but something in the stillness of the posture sent a chill down Sarah's spine.

  "Someone's following me, Michelle," she whispered, watching the figure recede as the cab turned a corner. "I'm not imagining it."

  Michelle squeezed her hand. "We'll figure this out. Tomorrow we'll go to the police together."

  Sarah's phone buzzed again. She almost didn't look, but some compulsion drove her to check the screen.

  *Running to Michelle won't help. I'll always know where you are, Sarah. Always.*

  She turned the phone off with trembling fingers and leaned her head against the cool glass of the window. Outside, the city lights blurred through the tears she refused to let fall.

  "I think I'm losing my mind," she whispered.

  "You're not," Michelle replied with fierce certainty. "Someone is messing with you. And we're going to find out who."

  But as the cab navigated through the late-night traffic, Sarah couldn't shake the sensation of invisible eyes tracking their progress. Eyes that somehow knew exactly where she was going, what she was wearing, what she was thinking.

  Eyes that never blinked, never looked away, never missed a single moment of her life.

  Eyes that had been watching her for far longer than she realized.