"The WhatsApp Message That Almost Got me Killed

PART 1: THE MESSAGE THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

The rain hammered against my apartment window like a warning. I was curled up on my couch, scrolling through memes, when my phone buzzed. A WhatsApp notification from an unknown number.

"Don’t trust anyone. They’re watching you."

I frowned. A prank? A wrong number? Before I could react, another message popped up.

"Check under your bed. Now."

A chill slithered down my spine. I hadn’t told anyone about my childhood fear of checking under the bed. My fingers trembled as I typed back: "Who is this?"

No reply.

Swallowing hard, I crouched beside my bed, gripping the edge of the sheet. It’s nothing. Just some idiot messing with you. I yanked it up—and froze.

A small, black USB drive lay in the dust.

My pulse skyrocketed. I hadn’t put that there.

I grabbed my laptop, hands shaking as I plugged it in. Only one file: "WATCH_ME.mp4"

The video was grainy, like CCTV footage. It showed me walking home from work last night, my hood up against the rain. Then—movement behind me. A figure in a dark coat, keeping pace just steps away. The timestamp matched the exact time I’d left the office.

My breath came in short gasps. Someone was following me.

Another buzz.

"Run. They’re coming."

Then—a sound from the hallway. A creak. A footstep.

Someone was at my door.

PART 2: THE CHASE

I didn’t think. I grabbed my keys, flung open the window, and clambered onto the fire escape. The icy rain soaked through my clothes instantly. Below me, the alley was pitch-black.

A crash from inside my apartment. The door splintered.

I jumped down, landing hard on the dumpster, then bolted. Behind me, heavy boots thudded on metal—whoever had broken in was right behind me.

My phone buzzed again. I didn’t stop running as I glanced at it.

"Turn left. Now."

A live location pin appeared—a blinking dot two blocks away. I didn’t question it. I veered left, slipping on wet pavement, and sprinted into a dimly lit 24-hour café.

The bell jingled. A few late-night customers glanced up. I collapsed into a booth, gasping, my heart trying to punch through my ribs.

Then—a figure slid into the seat across from me. A man in a black hoodie, his face shadowed.

"You shouldn’t have opened that USB," he hissed.

Before I could speak, he shoved a burner phone into my hands. "They’ve been tracking you for months. You know too much."

"Know what? Who the hell are—"

"Listen carefully." His eyes darted to the door. "Your boss, Rajat Khanna? He’s not who you think. That USB has proof. They’ll kill you for it."

A deafening CRACK—the café window exploded. Screams. Glass rained down as a bullet embedded itself in the wall beside my head.

The hooded man yanked me under the table. "Go out the back. Don’t stop. Don’t look back."

Then he was gone, vanishing into the chaos.

PART 3: THE TRUTH UNRAVELS

I ran until my lungs burned. The burner phone buzzed—a new message with an address: "Safe house. 23B Heritage Apartments. CODE: NIGHTINGALE."

I spent three days there, barricaded inside, surviving on canned food. The USB’s contents haunted me: encrypted files, financial records, and a video of Rajat accepting a briefcase of cash from a man the news called "the most wanted arms dealer in Asia."

I was a pawn. Rajat had planted the USB on me, knowing I’d find it. If the police raided his office, I’d take the fall. And if I talked—

A knock at the door.

"Police! Open up!"

I hesitated. What if they were his people?

Then—a voice I recognized. My college friend, Aryan, now a detective. "It’s me! We got Rajat. You’re safe."

The second I opened the door, Aryan pulled me into a crushing hug. "You have no idea how deep this goes," he whispered.

Rajat wasn’t just embezzling. He was selling corporate secrets to fund terrorist cells. The "stalker" was his hired killer, sent to retrieve the USB—and silence me.

The hooded man? An undercover agent who’d been tracking Rajat for years.

EPILOGUE: THE MESSAGES DON’T STOP

The case made headlines. Rajat got life in prison. I changed my name, moved cities.

But sometimes, at 3 AM, my phone still buzzes.

Unknown number: "They’re still out there. Watch your back."

I never reply.

Because now I know—some secrets aren’t just dangerous.

They’re deadly.