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I take a deep breath, steeling myself. It’s probably nothing, I tell myself. Just another late-night shopper. But as I take a step forward, so does he.

That’s when I see it. The mask—a white joker’s face, looking ridiculous in the harsh store lighting. And scrawled across his black coat, right over his chest, are the very words that have been haunting me since days: “My eyes will always be on you.”

A scream bubbles up inside me, but before I can let it out, the figure lunges forward. I stumble backwards, the cat food clattering to the floor. Desperate now, I turn to run, but my heel catches on the slick floor, and I tumble down, hitting the ground hard.

As I scramble to my feet, I hear Harry’s concerned voice. “Miss Simran? Everything okay back there?”

I want to call out, to scream for help, but fear has stolen my voice. I manage to get to my feet, my hands shaking as I brace myself against the shelves. I look back down the aisle, expecting to see the masked figure bearing down on me.

But there’s no one there.

I blink, confused. Did I imagine it? Am I losing my mind?

“Miss Simran?” Harry calls again, his voice closer now, filled with worry.

I take a shaky breath. “I’m... I’m okay, Harry,” I manage to call back. “I just... just dropped something.”

I bend down to pick up the fallen cat food, my eyes flitting nervously around the store. But everything seems normal. No masked figure lurking, and no ominous presence. Just the quiet hum of the refrigerators and the flickering fluorescent lights overhead.

As I make my way to the counter, my legs feel like jelly. Harry looks at me with concern etched on his kind face.

“You sure you’re alright, Miss? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I force a smile. “I’m fine, Harry. Just tired. Long night, you know?”

He nods, though I can tell he’s not convinced. As he rings up my purchase, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see the masked figure standing there. But there’s nothing. Just empty space.

Paying for the cat food, I rush out of the store, my heart pounding in my chest. The cool night air hits my face, but I barely register it. All I can think about is escaping and getting back to safety. I fumble with my car keys, my hands shaking so badly that I can barely grip them.

Just as I reach my car, I glance back, and my blood runs cold. There he is, emerging from the back exit of the store, moving slowly and deliberately towards me. The mask, that eerie joker face, seems to glow in the dim light of the parking lot, and he’s holding a knife in his right hand.

Panic overtakes me. I abandon my car, my feet carrying me towards the main street before I can even process the decision. My heels click against the pavement, the sound echoing in the quiet night. I desperately need help. I need someone.

My fingers, operating on pure instinct, pull out my phone and dial the last number called. It’s only when I hear the familiar voice that I realise I’ve called Meher, my friend back in India whom I’d spoken to just this morning, informing her about the award I was receiving tonight.

“Simran? What’s going on? Why are you calling at this hour? It’s the middle of the night there, isn’t it?” Meher’s asks in concern.

“Meher,” I gasp, still running, my voice raspy with fear. “There’s someone after me. A man in a mask. I think he’s been following me for weeks, and now... now he’s chasing me with a knife!”

“WHAT?? Simran, slow down. Where are you?” Meher’s voice sharpens with worry.

I explain in breathless bursts as I race towards my apartment building—the store, the mask, the threatening messages. It all comes tumbling out in a frantic stream.

“I’m almost at my apartment,” I pant. “I had to leave my car behind. I just... I just ran for my life.”

“Okay, Simran, listen to me,” Meher says, her voice steady, though I can sense her underlying fear. “Get inside, lock all the doors, and call the police immediately.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. The elevator dings open on the 36th floor, and I stumble out, fumbling with my keys again.

“Simran? Are you there? The call dropped for a second,” Meher’s voice comes back, thick with worry.

“I’m here,” I pant, finally managing to unlock my door. I rush inside, slamming it shut behind me and engaging every lock. “I’m inside my home now. I’m safe... I think.”

I lean against the door, trying to catch my breath. The adrenaline is starting to fade, leaving me shaky and exhausted.

“Thank god,” Meher breathes. “Simran, you need to call the police. This isn’t a joke or a prank. Don’t take it lightly. Maybe someone is really stalking you.”

“I know,” I whisper, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. “I will. I’ll call 911 right now.”