This house holds its breath before dawn.
Curtains drawn like closed eyes.
A quiet street, too quiet.
parked cars lined up like they know something.

Inside, the clock doesn’t tick.
It silently waits.

Floorboards remember every step
I’ve taken at this hour,
every night I told myself
it’s just another morning starting early.

The kettle hums low, unsure.
A light clicks on in the kitchen.
Outside, nothing moves.

I check my phone.

Seen.

Not replied.
Not missed.
Just acknowledged, like a mark on a list.

The walls feel closer when the screen glows.
Shadows stretch where they shouldn’t.
The hallway mirror refuses to reflect anything useful.

I tell myself it’s only a word.
Four letters.
Nothing supernatural about that.

Still,
the streetlamp flickers, once.
A car alarm breathes, then stops.
The house settles in a way that sounds like listening.

I check again.

Seen.

The message stays where it is,
pinned in time.
No typing bubble.
No escape.

Somewhere in the house,
a floorboard creaks,
not underfoot,
but as if remembering how it felt.

I don’t move.
Neither does the street.

I wonder when being noticed
started feeling like being chosen.
I wonder when silence learned my name.

The screen dims.
The word remains.

Seen.

Outside, the quiet street keeps watch.
Inside, the house does not deny it.

And I realise:
whatever saw me
had no reason
to answer.

Written By MCapture