It was in a quiet café, tucked away from the city's chaos — a rare moment when he had managed to escape his world, if only for a coffee. She was at the counter, speaking softly to the barista, her voice warm and gentle, laced with a sweetness he had never heard before.

And for the first time in years, the storm inside him went still.

Her voice soothed him in a way nothing else ever had. It was as if the constant rage that burned in his veins finally found peace — if only for a moment. He didn't know her name, didn't know anything about her. But from that day on, he needed to hear her, like a man dying of thirst craves water.

His obsession began quietly — a name on his lips, a voice in his head that kept him grounded when his anger threatened to explode.

You never expected your nights to be filled with mystery. Yet, every night, as the city outside fell silent and the moon painted silver shadows across your room, your phone would ring — always at the same time.

The first time it happened, you thought it was a mistake. The second time, a prank. But by the third night, when you heard that deep, smooth voice on the other end of the line, you knew it was something else entirely.

He never said his name. He never told you where he was calling from. But there was something about how he spoke — calm, deliberate, and a hint of danger that made your skin prickle and your heart race.

It was past midnight. The city outside your apartment window was bathed in a soft, pale glow, the streetlights flickering like tired eyes struggling to stay open. You sat curled on your bed, knees drawn to your chest, your phone resting on the nightstand.

When it rang — right on time — you didn't hesitate to answer.

"Couldn't sleep again?" his voice hummed through the receiver, low and velvety, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

You swallowed, unsure why you kept picking up. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was loneliness. Or maybe it was the thrill of not knowing who he was — of not knowing if you should be afraid.

"You always know when I'm awake," you whispered, your fingers tightening around the phone.

A soft chuckle on the other end. "Because I'm always watching."

Your breath caught. There was no humor in his tone — just quiet certainty.

You rose from your bed and moved to the window, peeking through the curtains at the empty street below. Empty — or so it seemed.

"Why do you call me?" you asked, your voice softer now, more vulnerable than you intended.

There was a pause like he was considering how much to say. "Because hearing your voice is the only thing that keeps me calm."

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, a mix of fear and something far more dangerous — intrigue.

"What if I stop answering?" you tested, though you weren't sure you could.

His voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper. "You won't."

Something in the way he said it made your stomach twist. He was right — you wouldn't. You couldn't.

As the seconds ticked by, neither of you spoke, the silence heavy but charged.

You let out a slow, shaky breath, your fingers still clutched tightly around the phone as you leaned your forehead against the cool glass of the window. The night outside looked calm, peaceful even, but your mind was anything but.

"I don't even know your name," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking louder might shatter the strange, fragile connection between you.

Another pause. Then, softly — too softly — he replied, "Some things are better left unknown."

Your eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing against your cheeks. "Why me?" you asked a question that had haunted you since that first call.

A quiet inhale from his side, like he was debating whether to tell you the truth. "Because you're not like the others."

"The others?" you echoed, your brows knitting in confusion.

"You're... different." His voice was lower now, almost tender. "You don't see the world like they do. I know because I've been watching long enough to see it."

Your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it through the line. Watching? The word echoed in your head, sending a chill down your spine.

"Are you—?" You hesitated, unsure if you wanted to finish the question.

But before you could gather the courage to ask, he spoke again.

"You're safe."

Your breath hitched.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," he added, softer now. "I would never let anything happen to you."

Your throat went dry, emotions tangled in a knot you couldn't untangle. "You say that like you know me."

There was a beat of silence before he murmured, "I know everything about you."