Lena hadn’t slept in three nights.

Not real sleep, anyway — just the kind where your body collapses but your mind keeps replaying the same moment over and over, like a film reel jammed in a projector. The alley. The shout. The sickening crack she thought she heard. The way her hands shook afterward.

She kept telling herself she hadn’t meant to do it. That it was an accident. That maybe she hadn’t even done anything at all.

But guilt doesn’t care about logic. It just sits on your chest and breathes.

By the time she reached her locker that morning, her fingers were trembling so badly she dropped her books twice. She could feel people glancing at her — or maybe she only imagined it. Paranoia had become her new shadow.

She spun the lock, trying to steady her breathing.

Then she saw it.

A folded piece of paper, tucked neatly between her textbooks. Not crumpled. Not hurried. Placed.

Her stomach dropped.

She unfolded it with numb fingers.

I know you didn’t do it. Meet me after school. Behind the greenhouse. Come alone.

No signature.

No explanation.

Just that.

For a moment, the hallway noise faded into a dull roar. Lena’s pulse hammered in her ears. Someone knew. Someone had been watching her unravel. Someone had seen the fear she’d tried so hard to hide.

But the worst part wasn’t the message.

It was the word didn’t.

She had spent days drowning in the belief that she’d hurt someone — maybe even killed them. She’d replayed the moment so many times she could barely tell memory from nightmare. She’d been ready to confess, ready to face whatever consequences came.

But this note… this note said she was innocent.

And whoever wrote it knew more than she did.

The bell rang, sharp and metallic. Lena flinched.

She shoved the note into her pocket and forced herself to walk to class, though her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Every step echoed with questions she couldn’t answer.

Who wrote it.

How did they know.

And why did they want her alone.

The day crawled by in a haze. Teachers’ voices blurred into background noise. Her friends’ questions slid off her like rain on glass. She barely tasted lunch. Every clock tick felt like a countdown.

By the time the final bell rang, her heart was a trapped bird.

She walked toward the greenhouse, the late-afternoon sun stretching long shadows across the courtyard. The air smelled like damp soil and cut grass. Everything looked normal — painfully normal — which only made her more aware of how not-normal she felt.

She rounded the corner.

Someone was already there.

A figure leaned against the greenhouse wall, arms crossed, face half-hidden in the shade. They straightened when they saw her.

“Lena,” they said softly. “You came.”

Her breath caught. She knew that voice.

But she hadn’t expected them.

Not in a million years.

“You…” she whispered. “Why would you leave me that note?”

They stepped forward, expression unreadable.

“Because,” they said, “I was there that night. And I know exactly what happened.”

Lena’s heart stopped.

“And you didn’t hurt anyone,” they continued. “But someone wants you to think you did.”

The world tilted.

“Why,” she managed.

Their eyes darkened.

“Because they’re not done yet.”

Lena’s throat went dry.

“Not done with what?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

The figure glanced around the empty courtyard before stepping closer, lowering their voice. Up close, the fading sunlight finally revealed their face — familiar, unsettlingly so. Not a stranger. Not an enemy.

Someone she trusted.

Or thought she did.

“You need to stay calm,” they said. “If anyone sees us talking, this gets a lot worse.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Lena muttered, her pulse racing. “You said you were there. In the alley. You saw what happened.”

“I did.”

“Then tell me,” she demanded, the words tumbling out faster than she could stop them. “Tell me I didn’t hurt them. Tell me I didn’t—”

“You didn’t,” they cut in firmly. “You pushed them away because they grabbed you. They slipped. They hit the bins and ran. They were fine.”

The relief hit Lena so suddenly her knees nearly buckled. She gripped the greenhouse wall, cold glass against her palm, trying to steady herself.

“They ran?” she whispered. “I… I heard a crack. I thought—”

“It was a lid snapping shut,” they said. “Not a bone.”

Her vision blurred. For three days she’d carried the weight of something terrible, replaying that moment until it felt monstrous. And now, with a few simple words, it shifted. Not gone — just… different.

“But if they were fine,” Lena said slowly, dread creeping back in, “then why do I feel like someone’s watching me? Why the note? Why say someone wants me to think I hurt them?”

The figure hesitated.

That hesitation told her more than any words could.

“Because,” they finally said, “what happened in that alley wasn’t random.”

Lena’s stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”

“They didn’t just ‘grab’ you. They were trying to scare you. Corner you. Make you react.”

“Why would anyone do that?” she asked, voice barely audible.

“Because fear makes people sloppy. It makes them doubt their own memory. Makes them easier to manipulate.”

The air felt heavier now, pressing down on her chest.

“You’re saying… someone planned it?” she said.

A small nod.

“And they wanted me to think I’d seriously hurt someone so I’d panic,” Lena continued, the realization dawning in fragments. “So I’d either confess to something I didn’t do… or stay quiet because I was afraid.”

“To dispose of you.”

The words landed like a stone in the water, rippling outward through everything she thought she knew.

Lena wrapped her arms around herself. “Who would do that to me?”

For the first time, the person in front of her looked genuinely uneasy.

“That’s the problem,” they admitted. “I don’t know. I just know they were watching. I saw someone at the end of the alley when you ran. They didn’t help. They didn’t check on the other person. They just… stood there.”

“Watching,” Lena echoed faintly.

“Watching you.”

Silence settled between them, thick and suffocating.

A breeze rustled the greenhouse leaves behind the glass, the soft sound oddly loud in the stillness. Lena’s thoughts raced, jumping from face to face — classmates, teachers, even friends. Anyone could’ve been there. Anyone could’ve slipped that note into her locker.

Anyone could still be watching.

“Why tell me now?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why not come forward sooner?”

They looked away, jaw tightening. “Because I didn’t realize what was happening at first. I thought it really was just some stupid confrontation. But then I noticed things. People asking weird questions about you. Teachers suddenly ‘checking in’ more than usual. Like they were waiting for you to slip up.”

A chill crawled up Lena’s spine.

“They think I’m guilty,” she said.

“They want you to think you’re guilty,” they corrected quietly. “There’s a difference.”

She swallowed hard. “So what do I do?”

Their gaze snapped back to hers, sharp and urgent.

“First, you stop acting scared. Whoever’s behind this is looking for cracks. If you keep walking around like you’re about to confess to something, they’ll know it worked.”

“And second?”

They hesitated again.

“Second… you start paying attention. Who’s watching you. Who keeps bringing up that night. Who seems a little too interested in whether you remember every detail.”

Lena’s mind flashed to moments from the past three days — a teacher lingering too long after class, a classmate casually asking if she’d “heard anything about that alley incident,” the way whispers seemed to stop when she entered a room.

None of it had felt important at the time.

Now it all did.

“And you?” she asked softly. “Why help me?”

Their expression softened, just for a second.

“Because you looked terrified,” they said. “And because whoever’s behind this… they’re not just playing a prank. They’re setting something up. Something big.”

A distant door slammed somewhere inside the school. Both of them flinched instinctively.

The courtyard suddenly didn’t feel so empty anymore.

“You should go,” they said quickly. “Act normal. Like this conversation never happened.”

Lena nodded, though normal felt like a foreign concept now.

She turned to leave, then stopped. “Wait. If you were there that night… then you saw who grabbed me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know them?”

Another pause. Longer this time.

When they spoke, their voice was barely above a whisper.

“I recognized them,” they admitted.

Lena’s heart pounded so hard it hurt.

“Then tell me,” she said.

They shook their head, backing away toward the shadows. “Not yet. It’s safer if you figure it out yourself. Just remember one thing.”

“What?”

Their eyes locked onto hers, dark with warning.

“The person who set this up is someone you’d never suspect.”

Before Lena could respond, they slipped away around the corner of the greenhouse, leaving her alone with the fading sunlight and a mind full of questions that felt sharper than fear itself.

Somewhere, unseen, a phone camera clicked.

Lena didn’t hear it.

But whoever was watching smiled.