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The Girl Who Texted Me Every Night at 2:17 AM

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Three months ago I started getting texts from an unknown number.

Every night. Exactly **2:17 AM**.

The first message just said:
*“Did you lock the balcony door?”*

I thought it was a wrong number. I ignored it.

Next night, **2:17 AM** again.

*“You forgot to water the plant again.”*

Now that was weird. I **do** have a plant on my balcony. I had actually forgotten to water it.

I replied:
“Who is this?”

No response.

Next night:
*“Don’t drink the milk in the fridge. It expired yesterday.”*

I checked. It **had** expired yesterday.

At this point I was half creeped out, half curious.

So I wrote:
“Okay this is getting weird. How do you know these things?”

Two minutes later the reply came.

*“Because I used to live there.”*

That actually made sense. Maybe the previous tenant still had some weird attachment to the place.

So I asked her name.

*“Aanya.”*

Over the next few weeks we kept talking. Only at **2:17 AM**. Never during the day.

She knew **every corner of the apartment**.
Which floorboard creaks.
Which drawer gets stuck.
Even the fact that the bathroom light flickers sometimes.

It became… oddly comforting.

Some nights we’d just talk about life. Jobs. Music. Random things.

One night I asked why she moved out.

There was a long pause.

Then she wrote:
*“I didn’t move out.”*

I laughed and sent a question mark.

No reply that night.

The next day curiosity got the better of me. I went to the building manager and asked about the previous tenant.

He looked confused.

Then he pulled up an old file.

“Aanya Sharma,” he said slowly. “She lived in your apartment.”

I asked when she moved out.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead he said something that made my stomach drop.

“She didn’t move out.”

I felt my chest tighten.

“What do you mean?”

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if he should say it.

Then finally:

“She **died there**. An year and few months back.”

My head started spinning.

Because the day I got the first text was **exactly** the same date on which she died an year ago.

That night I waited.

2:17 AM.

My phone buzzed.

Her message:

*“By the way… you should really start locking the balcony door.”*

I typed with shaking hands:

“Why?”

Three dots appeared.

Then the last message I ever received from her.

*“Because the thing that pushed me… came from outside.”*

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