The First Warning
Maya wasn’t expecting any mail that evening. It was a dull, rainy Tuesday, the kind of night meant for curling up with a book and ignoring the world outside. But when she opened the door to take out the trash, something unusual caught her eye—a single envelope, cream-colored and old-fashioned, lying on the doormat.
She frowned. No stamp, no sender, just her name on the front. **MAYA SHARMA**—written in a way that made her stomach twist. The handwriting looked eerily familiar.
Her own.
Maya hesitated before picking it up. The paper felt slightly rough, like it had been handled too many times before reaching her. A chill crept up her spine. Was this some kind of prank?
Taking a deep breath, she ripped it open.
Inside was a single sheet of paper, the ink slightly smudged but still legible.
> You have seven days to stop a murder.
> The victim is someone you love
> Trust no one.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
She reread the words, her brain scrambling for logic. It had to be a joke. A cruel, elaborate joke. But who would do this? And how did they make it look like her handwriting?
The air in her apartment suddenly felt too thick, pressing in on her from all sides. She forced herself to take deep breaths, but her fingers trembled as she clutched the letter.
“Think, Maya,” she muttered to herself.
If this was a prank, someone had to be watching, waiting for her reaction. Heart pounding, she rushed to her window and peered outside. The street was empty, the flickering streetlamp casting long, eerie shadows on the pavement.
She swallowed hard.
The rain had nearly washed away any footprints. Nearly.
Her eyes locked onto a pair of faint shoe prints leading up to her door. Someone had been here. Recently.
Her phone buzzed suddenly, making her jump. She fumbled to unlock it. A message from Aarav, her best friend.
Aarav:Hey, you okay? Haven’t heard from you today.*
She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Was he the victim? Was he the sender?
Her gaze darted back to the letter. The last line burned into her mind.
Trust no one.
Maya’s breath hitched. The rain outside intensified, hammering against the window like a warning.
She needed to find out the truth.
Before it was too late.
The Clues Begin to Unravel
Maya barely slept that night. The letter sat on her nightstand, taunting her every time she turned. Each time she closed her eyes, she imagined someone standing outside her window, watching.
By morning, she had convinced herself it was a prank—a twisted joke by someone with too much time on their hands. Maybe Aarav? No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he?
She grabbed her phone and typed out a message.
Maya:Did you leave something at my door last night?
Aarav’s response was instant.
Aarav:What? No. Why?
She hesitated before replying. Forget it.
Telling him would mean explaining why she was shaken, and she wasn’t ready to do that yet. Instead, she shoved the letter into her bag and headed to work, hoping the routine would clear her mind.
It didn’t.
By noon, Maya couldn’t focus. Her fingers hovered over her keyboard at work, typing and deleting the same sentence over and over. The words from the letter echoed in her head.
Seven days. Someone you love. Trust no one.
Her chest tightened. What if—just what if—it wasn’t a joke?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft **whoosh**—an email notification. The subject line sent a jolt of ice through her veins.
“Check your bag."
Her breath caught. Slowly, she glanced around the office. No one was looking at her. No one seemed out of place.
With trembling hands, she reached for her bag. Her fingers brushed against something smooth—a folded piece of paper that definitely hadn’t been there this morning.
Heart pounding, she pulled it out.
Another letter.
You ignored the first warning.
The killer is closer than you think.
Don’t trust the wrong person.
Maya’s grip tightened, the paper crinkling in her hands.
Her eyes darted around the office again. Someone had put this in her bag. Someone had sent that email.
Someone was watching her.
She forced herself to stay calm. If she freaked out, she’d look suspicious. Instead, she casually got up, holding the letter tight, and walked toward the breakroom. She needed air. She needed time to think.
Her phone buzzed again. Another message.
**Unknown Number:Stop looking. You won’t like what you find.
Maya’s breath hitched.
This wasn’t a joke.
This was real.
And she was running out of time.
A Stranger Knows Too Much
Maya sat in the breakroom, gripping the second letter so tightly her knuckles turned white. The words blurred together, but the message was seared into her mind.
"You ignored the first warning. The killer is closer than you think. Don’t trust the wrong person."
Her hands trembled. Someone had slipped it into her bag. Someone had sent that email. Someone had been watching her.
She forced herself to breathe, trying to steady the rising panic in her chest. Think, Maya. Think.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:Stop looking. You won’t like what you find.
She nearly dropped her phone. Who was this? How did they have her number?
Swallowing hard, she stood up, stuffing the letter into her pocket. She needed answers. And there was only one person she trusted enough to talk to.
Aarav.
Maya found him at a café near their office, sipping coffee and scrolling through his phone. He looked up as she approached, frowning at her pale face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She hesitated. “I… I need to show you something.”
Sliding into the chair across from him, she pulled out the letters and laid them on the table. Aarav’s brows knitted together as he read them.
“Maya,” he said slowly, “where did you get these?”
“They just appeared,” she whispered. “One at my door, another in my bag at work. And I got an email. A text, too.”
Aarav exhaled sharply, leaning back. “This is insane.”
“Do you think someone’s playing a sick joke?” she asked.
His fingers tapped against the table. “I don’t know… but the handwriting—”
“I know,” she interrupted. “It looks like mine.”
Aarav’s jaw tightened. “Have you told anyone else?”
She shook her head.
“Good,” he muttered. “Don’t.”
Maya blinked. “Why?”
Aarav hesitated, then leaned in. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Because this means someone close to you knows too much.”
Goosebumps prickled her skin.
“Or…” he continued, his voice even lower.
“…someone wants you to think that.”
Maya’s stomach twisted. Aarav was right. Either someone was trying to warn her, or someone was trying to **manipulate her**.
But why?
Her phone buzzed again. Another unknown number.
Unknown Number: He’s lying to you.
Maya’s breath hitched. Her hands went cold.
She looked up at Aarav, who was watching her carefully.
Trust no one.
The warning echoed in her head.
Aarav’s expression was unreadable.
Was it him?
Was he the one lying?
The Betrayal
Maya gripped her phone so tightly she thought it might shatter. The message on the screen felt like ice against her skin.
"He’s lying to you."
She swallowed, looking up at Aarav. He was watching her carefully, his expression unreadable. Had he seen the message?
She turned the phone over, pressing it against her lap. "Aarav… are you sure you don’t know anything about this?"
His brow furrowed. "Maya, come on. You think I’d do this to you?"
She wanted to believe him. She needed to believe him. But the words in the letters, the eerie timing of the messages—they gnawed at the edges of her trust.
Aarav leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Listen, we need to find out who’s behind this before it gets worse. Do you still have that first letter?"
Maya hesitated, then pulled it from her bag. He took it, his eyes scanning the words slowly. His fingers lingered over the ink, as if he were trying to read between the lines.
Then something changed. A flicker of something—recognition? Panic?
She caught it, just for a second, before he masked it.
Maya’s stomach twisted. "What is it?"
Aarav’s grip tightened on the letter. "Nothing."
Liar.
She knew him too well. She had known him for years. Aarav never hesitated unless he was hiding something.
Maya’s heart pounded. Had she trusted the wrong person all along?
Before she could press him, her phone buzzed again. Another message.
Unknown Number: Run.
A chill ran down her spine.
And then she saw it—Aarav’s phone screen lighting up on the table. A message from an unknown number.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The same unknown number.
She shot to her feet, nearly knocking over her coffee. Aarav stood up too, his hands raised. "Maya, wait—"
Her chest felt tight. "It’s you, isn’t it?"
Aarav’s eyes widened. "What? No! You’re wrong!"
But the letters. The messages. The hesitation. It all pointed to him.
Maya’s pulse roared in her ears. She took a step back.
Aarav moved toward her. "Maya, you have to listen to me—"
She turned and ran.
She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get away. Away from Aarav. Away from whoever was watching her. Away from the truth she wasn’t ready to face.
Because if the messages were right—if the murder was real—
She had just made a **terrible mistake.
The Choice
Maya ran.
The city blurred around her, neon lights reflecting in puddles, car horns blaring in the distance. Rain splattered against her face, cold and sharp, but she didn’t stop. Her breath came in short gasps, her heartbeat pounding like war drums in her ears.
She glanced over her shoulder.
Aarav wasn’t following her.
Yet.
She ducked into a dimly lit alley, pressing her back against the cold brick wall. Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone. Another message was waiting for her.
Unknown Number: You don’t have much time. He’s not working alone.*
Maya squeezed her eyes shut.
This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. Aarav—the person she trusted most—was somehow involved. But now, the messages were telling her he wasn’t acting alone? Who else could be behind this?
She exhaled shakily and wiped the rain from her face. Her choices were limited, but they were clear.
She could run—leave town, disappear, and never look back.
Or she could confront Aarav—demand the truth, no matter the risk.
Her fingers hovered over her phone screen, hesitating. Then another message flashed.
Unknown Number: The murder happens at midnight. You can still stop it.
Maya’s stomach twisted. She checked the time. 11:47 PM.
Thirteen minutes.
She didn’t know where the murder would happen. She didn’t know who the victim was. But she did know one thing—someone wanted her to know.
She took a deep breath. No more running.
She dialed Aarav’s number.
He picked up on the first ring. "Maya—thank God, listen—"
"Where are you?" she interrupted, voice cold and steady.
A pause. "Maya, please. Just tell me where you are. We can figure this out."
Her grip tightened on the phone. "No, Aarav. No more games. Either you tell me the truth, or I walk away forever."
Silence.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Aarav said, "Come to the abandoned house on Eighth Street. Alone."
A chill crawled up her spine. She had one last chance to turn back.
She made her choice.
---
Twelve minutes later, Maya stood outside the abandoned house.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and something else—something metallic.
Blood.
She stepped inside. The wooden floor creaked under her weight. In the dim moonlight filtering through broken windows, she saw a figure slumped against the wall.
Aarav.
His shirt was stained with blood. His chest rose and fell unevenly.
Maya rushed to him. "Oh my God, Aarav—who did this?"
He coughed, his fingers clutching at her arm. His lips moved, voice hoarse. "Maya… you have to run…"
Her phone buzzed.
A new message.
Unknown Number: Too late.
A floorboard creaked behind her.
Maya turned.
And then—darkness.
