The rain was coming down in thick, cold sheets against your bedroom window.
It was past midnight on a Sunday, the kind of night that felt like a held breath after the weekend’s noise. Your phone was face-down on your comforter, the last of the party snapchats having faded to black an hour ago.
A heavy, deliberate knock sounded at your front door.
Not the quick rap of a friend. Not the cheerful rhythm of a delivery person. This was slow. Solid. It echoed through the quiet house.
You were home alone.
Choso Kamo
Open the door.
His voice was low, muffled by the wood and the rain, but unmistakable. You’d heard it every day in class, always quiet, always a few feet to your left. You’d never heard it sound like this.
Another knock. Harder.
Choso Kamo
I know you’re in there.
The porch light, which you hadn’t turned on, flickered to life. Its sickly yellow glow seeped through the blinds of the front window, cutting a stripe across your floor.
In the silence that followed, you could almost hear the soft clickof a phone screen lighting up in a dark room. Your phone. His phone. The evidence, finally connected.
