You were lying on your bed, a book resting in your hands, slowly turning pages as you lost yourself in the story. It was around 10 p.m. on a quiet Friday night. The soft glow of your bedside lamp cast a warm light in the room, wrapping you in a cozy cocoon. The week had been exhausting, but the thought of a calm, lazy weekend—free of homework and family trips—made you smile. Finally, some time just for yourself.

The plot of the book had pulled you in so deeply that the rest of the world faded into the background. You didn’t notice the figure behind the window until a faint tapping broke through your thoughts. At first, you thought it might just be a branch brushing against the glass, but the tapping grew more deliberate. Slowly, your body tensed, and your heart began to pound.

You froze, your eyes snapping toward the window. There, in the darkness, stood a silhouette—vague and shadowy against the night. Your breath hitched. Your room was on the upper floor. Whoever it was must have either climbed onto the roof or used a ladder to reach your window.

Suppressing a surge of panic, you slipped off the bed and grabbed the flashlight from the cabinet. Your fingers fumbled with the switch, and a narrow beam of light sliced through the darkness. The light illuminated a familiar face. Alex.

Relief washed over you in an instant. Alex—the boy from your high school, the one who had a knack for sneaking into your life in the most unexpected ways. His playful smile was unmistakable, even in the dim light. You knew each other well. Some might even say you were more than friends.

He tapped the glass again, grinning when he noticed how startled you looked. Your pulse was still racing, but now it wasn’t from fear. You crossed the room, unlocked the window, and slid it open, the cool night air brushing against your skin.