A beautiful yet mysterious flat stood in the middle of a quiet residential area. It was not well furnished, but it was aesthetically maintained, with a sense of calm and solitude surrounding it. A large window allowed the morning sunlight to stream in, casting a golden glow straight onto the bed. There, a girl lay with her free-flowing hair, dressed in a long nightwear, deeply engrossed in a book. The light illuminated her face, making her eyes gleam as they skimmed over the pages.
She was reading The Calculating Stars, completely absorbed in its world. But suddenly, a flicker of annoyance crossed her face as the brightness became too much. She sat up, stretched lazily, and walked over to the window, pulling the curtain shut. The room dimmed instantly, creating a cozy, quiet atmosphere once again.
Just as she settled back with her book, a faint sizzling sound came from the kitchen. Her eyes widened in realization, and she rushed towards the stove. The pot on the burner was dangerously close to spilling over. Quickly turning off the flame, she sighed in relief. It was about to get dark, but that was fine. The food was only for her—there was no one else to share it with.
She poured herself a cup of tea and stepped onto the balcony, taking a deep breath of the warm afternoon air. The city outside was alive and rushing, yet she remained an observer, detached from its chaos. Next to her flat, an elderly couple sat on their small terrace, engaged in a loud conversation. Their voices carried easily in the quiet afternoon.
"Did you hear about the star that hit two days ago?" the old man asked, his voice filled with curiosity.
"Of course! The news is everywhere. Some say it's a sign, something bigger is about to happen," his wife responded.
The girl frowned. She had heard enough about that star over the past two days. People were obsessed with it, making all sorts of speculations. She wasn't interested. Shaking her head, she returned to her book, trying to ignore their conversation.
Just as she lost herself in the words, the doorbell rang.
She stood up, confused. She wasn't expecting anyone. Walking towards the door, she peered through the peephole and saw a delivery boy standing there with a parcel in his hands.
She opened the door slightly. "Yes?"
"Ma'am, delivery for you," the young man said, holding out a medium-sized box.
She frowned. "I didn't order anything. There must be a mistake."
The delivery boy looked at his records. "It's addressed to you. And it's from... Advik Sharma."
Her eyes widened in surprise. That name meant nothing to her. She had never met anyone by that name before. "I don't know any Advik Sharma. This parcel isn't mine. Please take it back."
The delivery boy hesitated, clearly unsure. He glanced at the name on his list again, then, with visible confusion, pulled out his phone and dialed the number written on the parcel.
After a few rings, someone answered.
"Sir, there's an issue with your delivery. The recipient says she doesn't know you and refuses to accept the parcel. What should I do?"
The person on the other end spoke, and the delivery boy's eyes widened slightly. He looked at the girl, unsure. "Uh… he's asking me to leave the parcel here."
The girl crossed her arms. "No. I won't accept it without knowing who he is."
The delivery boy, reluctant to just leave it, handed her his phone. "Please, ma'am, just talk to him."
She hesitated for a moment, then slowly took the phone. "Who is this?" she asked, her voice cautious.
A deep, unfamiliar voice replied, "You don't know me. You'll never get to know me. But be safe from the things that are about to happen. Open the parcel and follow the instructions inside. If you ever find yourself in a situation where no one can help you… you can find me with that."
A chill ran down her spine. "What? What are you talking about?"
But the call had already disconnected.
Heart pounding, she tried dialing the number again, but it was unreachable.
Slowly, she accepted the parcel, her hands trembling slightly as she closed the door behind her. Stepping inside, she stared at it, a wave of unease washing over her. Something felt wrong. The air in the room suddenly felt heavier, suffocating.
She placed the parcel on the table and stepped back as if it were something dangerous. Then, rushing to grab her phone, she snapped several pictures—one of the parcel, another of the sender's address, and finally, the courier slip.
Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she finally recorded a voice message.
"I just received a parcel from someone I don't know. The delivery guy said it's from an Advik Sharma, but I have no idea who that is. When I refused, they called me directly and said something really strange. They told me to open the parcel and follow the instructions inside. It felt… ominous. I don't know what to do. I've sent pictures. Please tell me what you think."
With one last glance at the parcel, she took a deep breath. What was inside? And more importantly… who was Advik Sharma?
Her fingers clenched around her phone as she waited for a reply, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily against her chest.
After several moments of hesitation, she grabbed a pair of scissors. She stood there for a long time, debating whether to open it. Taking a deep breath, she finally cut through the tape and opened the box.
Inside, there was an old mobile phone, a faded photograph of two children, and a small, rusted key.
She frowned, carefully picking up the photograph. The edges were worn, and the image was slightly blurry, as if it had been handled too many times. Who were these children? Why had someone sent this to her?
Just as she reached for the mobile phone, her own phone vibrated with a new message.
Do not touch anything from now on. I'll deal with it.
Her breath hitched. Someone was watching her.
Heart pounding, she quickly placed the phone back inside the box and closed it. The sense of fear that had briefly subsided returned with full force.
What had she just gotten herself into?