Sukrant Monga

The clock on the wall read 11:58 PM.

Ananya hadn’t left her apartment in 271 days—not since that night. Her hand hovered over the door handle, trembling. If she didn’t step out before midnight, the message had said, she never would. She didn’t believe it. Not completely. But again, she hadn’t slept since it had arrived.

Unknown Email: You locked yourself in to stay safe. But safety has an expiry.

11:59.

Her breath came in shallow bursts. “There’s no timer,” she whispered to herself. “This is in my head.” The hallway outside felt distant, like it belonged to someone else’s life.

Then her phone buzzed.

30 seconds

A sound broke the silence.

A soft knock.

Behind her. Except she lived alone

Ananya froze. Slowly, she turned. The bedroom door creaked open, just an inch at first, then a little more, darkness spilling into the hallway. Her pulse began to pound.

“Don’t leave.”

It was her voice.

Her throat went dry. “No…”

The knocking came again. Louder. Faster.

10… 9…

“STAY!” the voice screamed now, desperate, almost breaking.

5…

Her grip tightened on the handle, knuckles white.

3…2…

She shut her eyes.

And pulled the door.

The door opened as cold air hit her face as she stepped into the hallway.

Silence.

Stillness.

Nothing.

For a moment, she just stood there, chest rising and falling, waiting for something—anything—to happen. But the hallway remained still, silent, almost disappointingly normal. Relief crept in, slow and uncertain. Maybe it really had been in her head. Maybe she had finally broken free.

She turned back toward her apartment.

The door was closed.

Locked.

From the inside.

Her breath caught in her throat, the relief draining instantly, replaced by something colder, heavier. Something that followed her out.

Her phone buzzed one last time in her shaking hand.

You made it out.

There was a pause—just long enough for hope to flicker.

Then the next message appeared.

Now, let’s see how long you last.