The night I stopped sleeping

I used to sleep with the window open.

Not because I liked fresh air or anything. It was just a habit. Every night, I would open it a little, lie down, and fall asleep while listening to the sounds outside—dogs barking, distant traffic, sometimes the wind.

It made me feel… normal.

Safe.

Everything changed after we moved.

The new house was fine. Bigger, cleaner, better. At least that’s what my parents kept saying. I nodded every time, but something about my room felt strange.

Especially the window.

It wasn’t broken. It wasn’t old. But for some reason, I didn’t feel like opening it anymore.

The first night, I kept it shut.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

But I couldn’t sleep.

I kept turning from one side to the other. My pillow felt too hot. The room felt too quiet.

At some point, I checked my phone.

2:17 a.m.

I sighed and closed my eyes again.

That’s when I heard it.

A soft sound.

Like something lightly touching the glass.

I froze.

At first, I thought it was just a branch or maybe the wind. I almost ignored it.

Then it came again.

Tap.

Not loud. Not scary. Just… clear.

I slowly turned my head toward the window.

There was nothing.

Just darkness outside.

I stared at it for a few seconds, feeling stupid for getting scared so easily. I even let out a small laugh.

“See? Nothing,” I whispered to myself.

I turned back.

And then—

Tap.

This time, I didn’t want to look.

But I did.

And I wish I hadn’t.

There was someone standing outside.

I couldn’t see the face properly. It was too dark. But I could tell it was a person.

Standing very still.

Looking straight at me.

My heart started beating so fast it almost hurt.

“This is a dream,” I told myself. “This is just a dream.”

But I was wide awake.

I could feel the bedsheet in my hands. I could hear my own breathing.

Tap.

It knocked again.

Slowly.

Like it was asking me to notice.

I pulled my blanket up to my chin, not fully hiding, just enough to feel a little safe.

It didn’t move.

It just stood there.

Watching.

Minutes passed.

Or maybe seconds. I don’t know.

Then something happened that made everything worse.

The window moved.

Just a little.

A small sound—

Click.

I sat up straight.

“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no…”

The window wasn’t supposed to open from outside.

I knew that.

I had checked it myself.

But the latch slowly lifted.

The window opened slightly.

Cold air came in, making me shiver.

I couldn’t scream.

I couldn’t even move.

The person didn’t come inside.

It just stood there.

And then I heard a voice.

Soft. Calm.

“Why did you close it?”

I felt tears in my eyes.

“What?” I whispered, my voice shaking.

“I can’t come in if it’s closed,” it said.

My whole body went cold.

“I always kept it open,” the voice continued. “You should too.”

The next morning, I didn’t tell my parents everything.

I just asked, “Who used to live in my room?”

They looked confused.

“No one special,” my mom said. “Why?”

“Just asking,” I replied.

But later, I asked the neighbor aunty.

She stayed quiet for a moment.

Then she said, “There was a boy.”

My stomach tightened.

“He used to keep his window open every night,” she continued. “Even in winter.”

“What happened to him?” I asked.

She looked at me carefully.

“He disappeared one night,” she said softly. “The window was open. He was just… gone.”

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I sat on my bed, staring at the window.

I kept it closed.

Very tightly closed.

Time passed slowly.

12:30 a.m.

1:45 a.m.

2:16 a.m.

My hands started shaking.

2:17 a.m.

Nothing happened.

I let out a deep breath.

Maybe it was over.

Maybe it was just my imagination.

I lay down slowly.

And then—

Tap.

I sat up immediately.

The window was already open.

I don’t remember opening it.

The room felt colder.

And someone was inside.

Standing near the window.

I couldn’t see clearly at first.

But as it stepped closer, my heart dropped.

It looked like me.

Same face.

Same eyes.

But the expression was different.

Calm.

Almost happy.

“You finally opened it,” it said softly.

“I didn’t,” I whispered.

It smiled.

“You will get used to it,” it said.

I tried to move, but my body wouldn’t listen.

It came closer.

And closer.

Until it was right in front of me.

“Don’t worry,” it said. “You won’t have to stay here anymore.”

The next morning, my parents said I was acting strange.

They said I was quieter.

They said I kept staring at the window.

They said I wasn’t sleeping at night.

They don’t understand.

Because every night, at 2:17 a.m., I wake up.

And I feel someone watching me.

From outside.

Waiting.

For me to forget again.

And open the window.