The Seventh Repetition

Simon had always considered himself a creature of habit, finding comfort in the predictable rhythm of his days. But today, that rhythm had been disrupted by an unsettling undercurrent; a feeling that something was amiss. From the moment he stepped out of his apartment, a sense of being watched had prickled at the back of his neck, a sensation that persisted throughout his commute and into the sterile environment of his office. At work, his usual focus was replaced by an uncharacteristic clumsiness. He fumbled his coffee mug, spilling lukewarm liquid across a report, and knocked a stack of files to the floor with an echoing clatter. His colleagues offered sympathetic smiles, but Simon felt their eyes linger a fraction too long, as if they sensed his growing unease. A heavy, almost physical weight settled on his shoulders, making each step through the fluorescent-lit corridors feel like a laborious effort. It was as if an invisible burden, dense and suffocating, had attached itself to…