One Last Dewdrop

October 13.Toronto, Canada.

I am a PhD student, far from home, far from comfort. To save money, I live in a shared apartment. My room is small, just a bed, a desk, and a window that looks at another building. I share the flat with a Canadian woman. She works in a shop somewhere in Ontario, not too far from Toronto. We don’t talk much. Just polite smiles, short hellos, nothing more.

That morning, I was sleeping deeply. The kind of sleep where your body feels heavy and safe. Then suddenly

Knock. Knock. Knock.

My eyes flew open. My heart started racing for no reason. I checked my phone. It just 6:00 a.m. I got out of bed, still half asleep, and walked to the door. The knocking stopped. I opened it slowly.The woman was standing there. She was wearing an oversized hoodie, much bigger than her body. The hood was pulled low. I couldn’t see her face. Not her eyes. Not her nose. Nothing. Just darkness under the hood.Then I smelled a strong, fishy smell from her body.It hit me instantly. My stomach turned. I had never smelled anything like that before. It didn’t feel normal. It didn’t feel human.

“Yeah?” I asked, my voice dry.

She didn’t reply.She just stood there. Completely still.

The hallway light flickered once. Then again. I felt uncomfortable, but I told myself I was overthinking. I was tired. New country. New stress.

“Do you need something?” I asked.

Slowly… very slowly… she lifted her head. But I still couldn’t see her face. It was like the light refused to touch it.Then she spoke,

“Did you hear the water last night?”

Her voice sounded wrong. Too soft. Like it was coming from far away. Like she was speaking through water.

“No,” I said. “I was asleep.”

She stayed quiet for a moment. Then she nodded. Just once. “There was dripping,” she said. “One last dewdrop.”

I didn’t understand what she meant.Before I could say anything else, she turned around and walked away. Her footsteps didn’t make sound. That scared me the most. I closed the door and locked it.

I laughed nervously. “Get a grip,” I told myself. “It’s nothing.”

But sleep didn’t come back.That day, I went to the university as usual. I tried to focus on my research, my papers, my deadlines. But that smell stayed in my nose. That voice stayed in my ears.That evening, I asked myself something simple,Why would she knock on my door just to ask that?

When I returned home at night, the apartment was silent. Too silent. The lights were off. I noticed something near the bathroom. Water on the floor.Just a thin trail. Like someone had walked with wet feet.I followed it.The bathroom door was open.Inside, the sink tap was dripping.

Drip…

Drip…

Drip…

One last dewdrop.

I turned it off quickly. My hands were shaking. I looked at the mirror.For a second, I thought I saw someone standing behind me.But when I turned around, no one was there.That night, I locked my door again. I pushed a chair against it. I kept the lights on. I told myself I was safe.Around 3 a.m., I heard it.Water.Not dripping this time.Flowing.From inside my room.I looked at the window. It was closed. The floor was dry.Then I heard breathing.Right outside my door.

Slow. Wet. Heavy.The fishy smell came back.

“Did you hear the water?” a voice whispered.

I covered my mouth. I didn’t move.The door handle turned.

Once.

Twice.

Then silence.

In the morning, everything looked normal. No water. No smell. No sound.I never saw her again.When I asked the landlord, he looked confused.

“There’s no woman living there,” he said. “That room has been empty for months.”

I moved out the same day.Even now, when I hear water dripping, my chest feels tight.It’s probably just my imagination.Nothing is true.I hope so.