Chapter 4 The Silence Changed

This week, Monday started strange.

It happened while I was jogging.

I always go early-before the bakeries open, before the sun gets too bold. But this time, a man standing by the corner shop turned as I ran past and didn't look away. Not a glance. A stare. His eyes followed me down the length of the street like I was carrying something unusual. I slowed my pace halfway through my route, pulse picking up for the wrong reasons.

By the time I got back to the apartment, I shook it off. Told myself I was overthinking it. I've been anxious before. This felt like that - a trick of the mind. Maybe it was the lingering burnout, still poisoning the corners of my thinking. Maybe it was just the city. Big cities can be strange that way - everyone noticing and no one noticing at the same time.

But then came Tuesday.

I was jogging, like usual. Canal path. 6:50 a.m. Hoodie on, earbuds in. The route was quiet, just a few dog walkers and cyclists. Nothing unusual.

Until a car slowed down as it passed me.

It didn't stop. Just rolled by slowly, the driver leaning slightly over the wheel to watch me. He didn't wave or honk or say anything. Just watched. Then drove off.

It left a cold ripple in my chest. I walked the rest of the way home.

By Wednesday, the unease had curled into something sharper. On the tram, I felt eyes on me from every angle. Not casual glances - full stares. One man even pulled out his phone and held it up for too long. I couldn't tell if he was filming. I didn't ask.

I got off two stops early again.

I didn't go out on Thursday. Couldn't.

I stayed in and rearranged the spice cabinet even though I barely cook. I cleaned the baseboards. I dusted the hallway shelf, careful not to move it. I tried to read but couldn't focus. Tried to nap but kept jolting awake, certain I'd heard a knock that never came.

By Friday morning, I was shaky before I even left the apartment.

I nearly turned back at the tram stop, but the office was expecting me, and I didn't want to give them a reason to question my reliability. I needed this job. This tiny, quiet job that asked nothing of me but edits and silence.

The tram ride felt endless. Everyone looked like they were holding in a secret. I kept my eyes on the floor.

When I reached the office, something was... off.

People looked up when I walked in - just briefly - then looked away too fast. Conversations that had been happening stopped mid-sentence. No one said good morning. Not even Lars. He kept his eyes glued to his screen the whole meeting, his fingers tapping too quickly on his keyboard.

Even Kemi, with her ever-present mug of tea, didn't look up when I passed her desk.

The silence this time wasn't comforting. It was full of something else. Something brittle.

And then came the comment.

I was in the break room, pouring water from the filter, when I heard it.

"She doesn't even act embarrassed," someone muttered from the hallway.

Another voice - quieter - replied, "Maybe she wants people to watch."

The paper cup trembled in my hand. Water splashed onto the counter. I didn't move. I just stood there, staring at the wall until I heard the footsteps fade.

I didn't go back to the meeting.

I left the building without signing out and took the tram back home. I sat in the back corner, arms crossed tight, trying to breathe evenly. Trying not to throw up.

No one looked at me on the ride home.

That felt worse somehow.

The apartment was too quiet when I stepped in. I kicked off my shoes. Didn't even bother to close the curtains. I dropped onto the couch, still in my coat, and stared at the ceiling.

I didn't cry.

Not at first.

I made it through Friday night in a haze - microwaved leftovers, cold tea, and a shower that left me sitting on the tile floor for too long.

Saturday was worse.

I woke up late and immediately wanted to go back to sleep. My chest ached with something I couldn't name - grief or shame or panic. I sat by the window but couldn't open my laptop. The manuscripts could wait. Everything could wait.

I cried that night. Really cried. First time in months.

Sunday was spent on the floor of the living room, wrapped in a blanket I hadn't washed in weeks, watching the same cooking show on loop. I didn't eat. I didn't clean. I didn't jog. I just... existed.

I didn't even notice that my phone had been buzzing until Jamie called for the third time.

I answered, voice raw from silence.

"Hey," he said. "You sound weird. Are you okay?"

I didn't respond right away.

"I'm just tired," I said. "Rough week."

He didn't speak for a second. I could hear him shift. Then:

"Eva... I need to ask you something."

The way he said it made my throat tighten.

"Did you post any videos recently?"

"What?"

"I mean... like, of yourself. At home. Or dancing. Or anything."

"No." My voice was flat. "Why would I?"

There was another pause. Then, carefully:

"I think someone's been posting them of you."

Silence.

"I didn't want to say anything unless I was sure," he continued. "But... I think there's a livestream. Of you. In the apartment. It's been circulating online. A friend sent me a clip without realizing it was you. Eva, I think people have been watching you. For weeks."

My lungs stopped working.

"What clip?" I whispered.

"Just you. Sitting by the window. Reading. But the comments - Eva, they're disgusting. And there are more. Some from the shower. The bedroom."

I stood up. My legs felt foreign.

"I didn't post anything," I said again, dumbly.

"I know. That's why I'm scared."

The line went quiet again.

"Do you know how?" he asked.

I didn't answer.

I was staring at the hallway shelf.

The one Jade asked me not to move.