The silence after that night felt different.
Not calm.
Careful.
At school, I didn't see him in the morning.
His seat was empty.
I told myself it meant nothing.
Still, I kept looking at the door.
During lunch, my phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
He will avoid you today.
I frowned.
You sound sure.
The reply came quickly.
Unknown Number:
Because I made the same mistake once.
My fingers froze.
You crossed the line too? I typed.
There was a long pause.
Longer than any before.
Then:
Unknown Number:
Yes.
That single word changed everything.
After school, I finally saw the other boy near the exit.
I didn't stop him.
I didn't follow.
I just watched him walk away.
My phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:
That was the right choice.
I sighed.
You keep saying that, but you never explain.
This time, the reply didn't come immediately.
When it did, it was longer.
Unknown Number:
I am not watching you alone.
My chest tightened.
What does that mean?
Another pause.
Then:
Unknown Number:
There is a system. I learned it before you.
I stared at the screen.
A system of what?
Three dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Then:
Unknown Number:
Attention.
I swallowed.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Because now I understood one thing clearly:
This was never just about being watched.
It was about who notices you
—and what happens when they do.