Threads of an Unseen Truth

Chapter Two

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting thin lines across Soren's room. He laid there, staring at the ceiling, his mind hazy from a restless night. The silence was different in the daylight, less oppressive, but it still held traces of the previous night's tension, like an echo that refused to fade.

He ran a hand over his face, breathing deeply, trying to shake the lingering unease. It had only been shadows, tricks of his own mind. He'd convinced himself of that. But even as he told himself this, a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered doubts, soft but persistent.

After a quick shower, he dressed and slipped the grocery list into his pocket—a familiar ritual, one that brought a flicker of calm to his racing thoughts. He traced the paper's edges, feeling its worn texture beneath his fingers as he made his way out of the apartment.

The fresh air outside helped clear his head, though he couldn't shake the feeling that something unseen trailed behind him, clinging to his footsteps. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he focused on the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement, each step a grounding rhythm as he walked to the nearby coffee shop where he'd agreed to meet Rowan.

Soren arrived a little early, finding a seat by the window. He watched the city go by, people moving in their own worlds, talking, laughing, unaware of the quiet turmoil that churned just beneath his calm exterior. His mind wandered, replaying the events of the night before—the shadows, the whispers, the cold certainty that something had been watching him.

A tap on his shoulder brought him back to the present. Rowan slid into the chair across from him, a familiar, easygoing smile on his face. "Hey, you look like you've seen a ghost," he teased, though his gaze held a trace of concern.

Soren forced a smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "Rough night," he muttered, trying to keep his tone light.

Rowan raised an eyebrow. "You're always saying that. Maybe it's time to start sleeping with the lights on."

Soren laughed softly, though it felt hollow. He wanted to tell Rowan everything—to spill his fears, the strange shadows, the whispers that sounded all too real. But the words stuck in his throat. How could he explain it without sounding paranoid? Without sounding like he was... losing it?

Instead, he looked down, tracing the edge of his coffee cup with his finger. "Do you ever feel like... I don't know, like something's watching you? But not in a normal way. Like it's in your head, but it's real?"

Rowan's smile faded, his expression softening. "Honestly? I think we all feel that way sometimes. It's just your mind messing with you, right? Brains are weird like that."

Soren forced a nod, but the response didn't satisfy him. It felt too simple, too dismissive, like brushing off something too real to ignore. Still, he didn't press further. Rowan wouldn't understand—not really. He was trying, but Soren knew this was different, that the presence he'd felt was more than just a trick of the mind.

As they talked, the uneasy feeling crept back, subtle at first, then building, like a shadow lengthening in the corner of his vision. He glanced around, his gaze flitting to the other patrons. No one seemed to notice him, but that only made it worse. He felt exposed, as though something lurked just out of sight, watching, waiting for him to let his guard down.

He reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the grocery list. It was a reflex now, a small ritual that gave him comfort in the most ordinary way. As he ran his thumb over the familiar words, he felt a faint warmth spread through his chest, a reminder of his grandmother's steady presence.

Rowan's voice broke through his thoughts. "Hey, are you even listening?"

Soren blinked, pulling himself back. "Yeah, sorry. Just... distracted."