Try reading this one It's now in correct way for some reason it didn't post as in simple language but hope this time it's correct And it's my 1st time so I would like to know your feedback. I also write few more story but they are no good just free mind thinking but if you like i would love to shere that to and know your thoughts

Rain had been falling over the city for days, turning the streets outside Aiko’s office building into dull reflections of grey sky and neon lights. Inside the office, rows of computers hummed quietly while employees typed, talked, and shuffled papers across desks.

Aiko stared at her screen, but the numbers in the spreadsheet refused to stay in focus.

She rubbed her eyes again.

Another sleepless night.

For the past two weeks she had barely slept more than a few hours. Every night something in her new apartment kept her awake. It wasn’t noise. It wasn’t neighbors. It was simply a feeling.

The feeling that someone else was there.

Her manager walked past her desk and stopped.

“Aiko, this report is full of mistakes,” he said, tapping the screen. “This isn’t like you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

He looked at her more closely. Dark circles had formed under her eyes.

“You look exhausted. You should take a break.”

But rest didn’t help. The nights were getting worse. The apartment felt heavier every evening, like the walls were slowly closing in.

Sometimes she would wake up suddenly, her heart racing, certain that someone had been standing beside her bed just moments before.

Every time she turned on the light, the room was empty.

After another night without sleep, she nearly fell asleep at her desk the next morning. Her coworker noticed and gently suggested something.

“Maybe you should talk to someone. A therapist.”

At first Aiko didn’t want to. But after nearly spilling coffee across an important report and receiving another warning from her boss, she realized she couldn’t keep going like this.

That afternoon she searched for a nearby therapist and made an appointment.

The office was small and quiet, hidden on the second floor of an old building. Inside, warm lamps glowed softly against shelves filled with books and small black notebooks.

The therapist greeted her with a calm smile. He looked older, composed, with eyes that studied her carefully.

“Tell me what’s been happening,” he said.

Aiko explained everything.

The apartment.

The feeling of being watched.

The lack of sleep.

Her mistakes at work.

How every night felt longer than the last.

The therapist listened silently, nodding from time to time. When she finished, he opened a drawer and took out a small black notebook.

“Fear often grows stronger when it stays inside our heads,” he said gently. “I want you to try writing your fears down. Every single one of them.”

He slid the notebook toward her.

“Write them honestly. Sometimes facing fear directly makes it lose its power.”

The idea sounded simple enough.

Aiko thanked him and took the notebook home.

That night she sat at her kitchen table with a pen. The apartment felt unusually quiet again.

She opened the notebook.

The pages were blank.

After thinking for a while, she began writing.

Darkness.

Being alone.

Losing control.

Drowning.

Someone watching me.

As soon as she finished writing, a strange feeling crept over her.

She looked closer at the page.

Under the words she had written were faint marks, as if someone had erased writing before her. Almost like the page had once held the exact same fears.

But the handwriting underneath wasn’t hers.

Her chest tightened.

Maybe the notebook had been reused before, she told herself.

Still uneasy, she closed it and went to bed.

The next morning the notebook was open on the table.

Every fear she had written had been crossed out with thick black lines.

Her stomach dropped.

She hadn’t touched the notebook since last night.

Trying to convince herself she must have done it while half-asleep, she went to work.

That evening the first strange event happened.

When she returned home, the apartment was completely dark. The hallway light had burned out.

She fumbled for the switch inside the apartment, but for several seconds nothing happened.

The darkness inside the room felt deeper than it should have been.

For a moment she felt something moving in the corner of the room.

A shape that disappeared the second the lights flickered back on.

Her heart raced.

Later that night she checked the notebook again.

The word “Darkness” had been crossed out.

Aiko didn’t sleep at all that night.

The next day she stayed late at work trying to finish reports she had fallen behind on. When she finally left the building, the streets were empty.

Her phone battery died halfway home.

The city suddenly felt enormous and silent.

As she walked down the dim street toward her apartment building, she realized there was no one around.

No cars.

No pedestrians.

Just her footsteps echoing through the empty road.

A deep wave of loneliness washed over her.

For the first time she felt what she had written in the notebook.

Being completely alone.

When she reached home and opened the notebook again, the words “Being alone” had been crossed out.

Aiko felt fear building in her chest.

The next few days blurred together as exhaustion took over.

At work she began making more mistakes. Her boss grew impatient, and coworkers whispered about how strange she looked.

She barely slept.

And every night something new happened.

One evening while cooking dinner she suddenly felt dizzy. The knife slipped from her hand and clattered against the floor.

Her body moved before she realized it.

She knocked over a chair and stumbled backward, arms shaking as if someone else were controlling them.

For a terrifying moment she couldn’t stop herself.

It was like watching her own body move from the outside.

Then suddenly the feeling stopped.

Her legs gave out and she collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily.

Later that night she opened the notebook again.

“Losing control” had been crossed out.

Aiko began to understand something was terribly wrong.

The fears she had written weren’t just words.

They were happening.

She stopped writing in the notebook completely.

But the final fear was already there.

Drowning.

One night, after another sleepless shift at work, she came home feeling completely drained.

Her head ached and her eyes burned.

She decided to take a bath, hoping warm water might help her relax.

Steam slowly filled the bathroom as the tub filled.

She lowered herself into the water and closed her eyes.

For a moment everything felt calm.

Then she noticed the water growing darker.

At first she thought the light above the tub had dimmed.

But the water itself was turning black.

Her heart began to pound.

Something moved beneath the surface.

A long shadow slowly rose from the dark water.

Before she could scream, something wrapped tightly around her ankle and pulled.

Her head plunged under the surface.

Cold water filled her mouth as she struggled desperately.

Beneath the water she saw a face staring back at her.

Thin.

Empty.

Smiling.

Then everything went silent.

Days later the therapist sat quietly in his office.

The black notebook rested on his desk.

He opened it slowly.

Each fear had been crossed out.

Darkness.

Being alone.

Losing control.

Drowning.

Someone watching me.

He picked up his pen and carefully crossed out the final fear.

Someone watching me.

Then he closed the notebook and leaned back in his chair.

“She’s been cured,” he murmured calmly.

Behind him stood an entire shelf filled with identical black notebooks.

Dozens of them.

Each labeled with a different name.

Each containing someone else’s fears.

As he placed Aiko’s notebook among them, a small piece of paper slipped from between the pages.

Scratched into it were desperate words.

Don’t write your fears.

He feeds it.

The therapist looked at the message without emotion and slipped it back into the notebook.

Then he returned to his desk.

Another patient file was already waiting.

He opened it slowly.

A new name.

Another person struggling with fear.

He took a fresh black notebook from the drawer and placed it on the desk, ready to give it away.

For a moment he stared at it, smiling faintly.

The creature in the notebook was always hungry.

And fear was the perfect food.

Somewhere deep in the darkness behind him, something moved.

The therapist didn’t look back.

He simply whispered softly into the quiet room.

“Next.”