Ding dong.
The sound sliced through the silence of early morning, a strange bell that jarred me awake. I turned my head to the side and blinked at the soft blue glow of my bedside clock. 6:30 a.m. Why on earth would someone ring the doorbell this early?
I sat still for a moment, half expecting my mom to get up and answer it. But then reality struck—I was alone. Everyone had gone to attend the wedding of a distant relative, and I had stayed behind due to a mild fever the day before. I had the house to myself, which had felt like a luxury last night but now seemed like a mistake. A second ding dong echoed through the house, louder and more urgent.
I sighed and sat up in bed. The chill in the air made me wrap my blanket around my shoulders. I tried to ignore the tiny prickle of fear that was slowly creeping into my thoughts. I was upstairs. The door was downstairs. Between me and the unknown visitor were exactly 15 steps.
As I placed my foot on the first step, my brain, ever the storyteller, whispered, It must be Jack. Maybe he’d come to apologize for the rude words he'd flung at me two weeks ago during our last fight. Perhaps he'd reconsidered, regretted the breakup. But before I could even enjoy that thought, reality slapped it away. No. He was too stubborn for that. He had made it crystal clear—it was over. He said he would never come back, and knowing him, he meant it.
On the second step, another thought flickered. Could it be Jacqueline? My best friend, who always knew when I was hurting. Maybe she realized I needed someone after the breakup and came to check on me. I smiled at the idea of her standing outside, holding two cups of coffee and giving me that comforting look only she could manage. But then again, it was too early. She was most definitely curled up in bed, dreaming about K-pop stars and croissants.
Third step. Maybe Mom forgot her jewelry box and came back to pick it up. That was plausible. But again, she would have called me. Mom always called. She wouldn't just show up without a warning, especially knowing I wasn’t feeling well.
Fourth step. Uncle John? The thought made my stomach twist. He had been acting oddly around me for a while, saying things no uncle should say, sending glances that made me uncomfortable. What if he decided to stop by while no one else was home? But then I remembered—his wife was like a hawk. She would never let him out this early without a reason.
Fifth step. Could it be that boy from college? The one who confessed his love for me in front of the library last week. I’d gently refused him, but he hadn’t taken it well. He’d looked angry, even embarrassed. Was he here to lash out? My heart skipped. Please, no.
Sixth step. What if it was Antony, the bully next door? He had always teased me, called me names when no one was around. Maybe he wanted to pull another prank. But I quickly dismissed the thought. He wouldn’t have the guts to do it so early when his parents might catch him.
Seventh step. Granny Mary? Our sweet old neighbor. That idea made me smile briefly. But it faded—why would she ring the bell at dawn?
I continued slowly, one step at a time, each step carrying another thought, another fear, another hope. By the time I reached the bottom step, my mind had run wild with possibilities. The early morning silence felt heavier than usual. Every creak in the house sounded louder, every gust of wind through the window sharper. I was suddenly aware of how vulnerable I was. A young girl, alone in a big, quiet house, facing a stranger at the door.
I stood there, my hand inches away from the lock, frozen for a moment. I could feel sweat on my forehead despite the cold. My heart was thudding louder than the doorbell ever could. My fingers trembled. But there was no choice. I had to face it—whoever it was.
With a deep breath, I turned the knob and opened the door.
There he stood.
Jack.
But not that Jack.
It was Jack the milkman, dressed in his familiar brown jacket and holding his worn-out receipt book. A relieved, almost embarrassed laugh escaped my lips. He looked up from his notes and gave me a friendly smile.
“Good morning, miss. I’ve come to collect last month’s milk bill. As usual, at the beginning of the month,” he said cheerfully.
I blinked at him, the tension in my body melting like morning frost. Of course. It was the start of the month. He always came on the first to collect the dues. I’d just forgotten. I nodded quickly, turned around, fetched the money—2000 bucks—and handed it over.
“Thank you,” he said, tipping his cap politely before walking away.
I closed the door and let out a long sigh. My whole body relaxed, and I could finally smile. All that mental drama, all that fear—for the milkman. Life had a way of making you feel foolish in the funniest ways.
I climbed the stairs again, slower this time, not burdened by imaginary visitors. I got back into bed, wrapped myself in my warm blanket, and let the coziness comfort me. My heartbeat had returned to normal. My thoughts, finally calm.
Ding dong.
Another bell.
And just like that, my heartbeat quickened again.
React
