The city had always been loud.
Car horns. Vendors shouting. Distant arguments leaking from open windows. Trains cutting through the night like metal screams.
But tonight—
There was nothing.
Arin stood by his apartment window, staring at the street below. The traffic lights were working. The buildings were there. The stray dogs still roamed the corners.
But no sound reached him.
Not even the wind.
He pressed his fingers against the glass. Cold. Real.
"This isn't possible," he whispered.
And that was when he heard it.
A breath.
Not behind him.
Not outside.
Inside.
Slow. Controlled. Almost patient.
Arin turned around sharply. His apartment was exactly how he left it—one chair near the table, a half-empty cup of tea, the clock ticking above the kitchen entrance.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The clock was working.
So why couldn't he hear it before?
He stepped back from the window.
"Hello?" His voice felt heavy, like it didn't belong to him.
No answer.
But the feeling remained.
Like someone had just finished speaking before he walked into the room.
Arin hadn't slept properly in weeks.
It started small.
Misplacing keys.
Forgetting conversations.
Waking up at 3:17 AM every night.
Always 3:17.
He didn't know why that time felt important.
But it did.
He checked his phone.
3:16 AM.
His chest tightened.
"No," he murmured.
The second changed.
3:17 AM.
The lights flickered.
Just once.
Then everything went dark.
The silence returned.
This time, it felt closer.
Thicker.
Breathing with him.
He could hear his heartbeat now. Loud. Violent. Like it wanted to escape his ribs.
Then—
A whisper.
Clear.
Right beside his ear.
"You shouldn't have come back."
Arin froze.
His blood ran cold.
Come back?
He had lived in this city his entire life.
He had never left.
Had he?
His head began to hurt.
Sharp.
Like something inside was trying to break out.
Flashes filled his mind.
A hospital corridor.
Red.
Someone crying.
His name being called.
Not softly.
Screaming.
"ARIN!"
He grabbed his head and fell to his knees.
"I don't remember," he gasped.
The whisper returned.
"That's the problem."
The lights came back suddenly.
The clock was ticking again.
The city noise returned—cars, distant music, a barking dog.
Normal.
Everything normal.
Arin slowly stood up.
His breathing heavy.
Maybe it was stress.
Maybe lack of sleep.
Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him.
He walked toward the bathroom to splash water on his face.
He looked into the mirror.
And his reflection looked back.
But—
It was smiling.
Arin wasn't.
He stepped back instantly.
His reflection returned to normal.
No smile.
Just his pale, exhausted face.
"You're losing it," he whispered to himself.
But deep down—
He knew something worse.
He didn't feel alone in his own body.
And somewhere in the apartment—
Something was waiting.
Patient.
End of Chapter 1.
If you like this tone, I can now:
Continue Chapter 2 (darker)
Increase emotional backstory
Add a shocking twist early
Or slow-burn the mystery deeper