It started with small, almost unnoticeable things. You’d come home from school and find your favorite hoodie draped over your desk chair when you were sure you’d left it in the laundry. Or your phone charger, which you swore was on the nightstand, suddenly sitting neatly coiled on your bed. At first, you chalked it up to forgetfulness or maybe your parents tidying up.

Then one night, as you’re about to crawl into bed, you notice something on your pillow—a single red rose. Your heart pounds as you pick it up, your mind racing. Nobody in your house would have left this.

The next day, it gets even weirder. You come home to find your fridge stocked with your favorite snacks and drinks—things you hadn’t bought. You ask your family, but no one takes credit. “Maybe you just forgot you bought them,” your mom says casually.

You try to convince yourself it’s harmless until one evening, you notice the window to your room is slightly ajar. Panic floods your chest as you realize you never opened it. Your eyes dart around the room, and that’s when you see it: a small note on your desk in perfect handwriting.

“I’m always here for you, Jake. Even when you don’t know it.”

Your legs feel like jelly as you sit down, gripping the note tightly. This wasn’t just someone being nice. Someone had been inside your room—inside your personal space—and they wanted you to know it.