A few months ago, I was out with friends and lost track of time. When I finally decided to head home, the streets were almost empty. Luckily, I found a taxi, and the driver—a tired-looking, middle-aged man—agreed to take me to my place.
At first, we chatted about the usual things, like work and the weather. But then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Do you ever feel like someone’s watching you when you’re home alone?” I laughed it off, thinking he was joking, but he didn’t laugh back.
Instead, he stared straight ahead and said, “I used to feel that way when I lived on your street.”
I felt a shiver but didn’t say anything. As we reached my apartment, I went to pay, but he shook his head. “No charge,” he said softly. “Just be careful tonight. Lock your windows.” Feeling puzzled, I thanked him and watched him drive away. The next morning, I noticed something that made my heart skip a beat: my bedroom window, which I always locked, was wide open.
