The next day, I woke up feeling… weird.
Not scared. Not excited. Just weird.
I remembered the message:
"Tomorrow, don't sit in your usual seat."
I laughed out loud.
"Who even plans school seat drama?!" I said.
Then remembered — this isn't normal.
Someone actually knows my life.
I got ready, ate breakfast, and walked to school.
Everything looked normal.
Students laughing. Teachers yelling. Doors opening. Bells ringing.
I walked to my usual desk, last row, near the window.
Then froze.
My desk was empty.
No backpack. No notebook. No pencil case.
Someone had moved it!
I looked around.
The classroom looked normal.
My friends were whispering, giggling.
The teacher hadn't noticed yet.
I whispered to my friend next to me,
"Did someone… take my desk?"
He laughed, "Relax, maybe they just moved it. It's school. Things move sometimes."
I frowned.
"This is not just school."
I slowly walked to the new desk.
Near the middle row.
Closer to the teacher.
Awkward, bright light shining on me.
Not my usual safe spot.
I sat down. My heart was pounding.
Then… my phone vibrated.
I almost jumped out of my seat.
Unknown Number:
Good. You're following instructions.
I blinked.
Instructions?
I looked at my friend.
He was staring at me like I had grown horns.
I whispered, "Someone is controlling me."
Another message came:
Unknown Number:
Look around carefully. You might notice something.
I slowly scanned the classroom.
Teachers. Students. Posters on walls. Windows.
Nothing unusual.
Then my eyes landed on a tiny piece of paper stuck under my desk.
It said:
"I know what you did yesterday after school."
I froze.
Yesterday after school…
I hadn't done anything special. Or had I?
I looked at my friend, whispering,
"Do you… see this?"
He shrugged.
"See what?"
I realized something:
I was completely alone in knowing this secret.
My hand shook as I picked up the paper.
The bell rang.
Class started.
Everyone focused on the teacher.
But I couldn't stop thinking:
Who left this here?
Why me?
How much do they know?
By the end of class, I was sweating.
Not from fear.
From curiosity.
And a little… panic.
Because one thing was clear:
This boring life of mine is no longer boring.