Knock at the Door

The sun had just begun to dip behind the limestone cliffs of Cavtat, painting the sky in molten gold and amber, when Ana noticed him. She had come down to the small, stony harbour to escape the stale air of her apartment and the ceaseless hum of her own thoughts. The town was quieter now, the tourist buses gone, leaving only the low cries of gulls and the gentle slap of waves against the boats.

He stood by the edge of the water, motionless, his figure almost blending with the shadows cast by the tall cypresses lining the promenade. Ana first thought he was just another late wanderer. Still, there was something about him—a stiffness, a careful stillness, like he had waited long enough to study the tide, the light, and even the people passing by. His clothes were dark, simple, almost too neat for someone lingering by a quiet harbour at dusk.

Ana felt an inexplicable pull, a subtle tug at the edges of her mind, and before she could stop herself, she walked toward him. He did not turn, but she could feel his gaze resting on her, not as one observes a stranger, but as one recognises something familiar in a person who should be entirely unknown.

"Good evening," Ana said, her voice lighter than she intended.

The man nodded once, barely perceptible, and then, as if deciding she was worthy of his words, spoke in a low, careful voice.

"You shouldn't be here."

Ana frowned. "Excuse me?"

"You shouldn't be here," he repeated, almost mournfully. "Not at this hour. Not tonight."

Ana's brow furrowed. He didn't look like a local; his accent was strange, drifting slightly between the tones of the coast and something she couldn't place. But the oddity in his words wasn't the accent—it was the certainty, the weight behind them, like a storm hovering behind calm skies.

"Why? What do you mean?" she asked, instinctively taking a small step back.

"The sea doesn't always speak in whispers," he said, glancing toward the Adriatic. "Tonight, it will roar. And not because of wind or tide."

Ana laughed nervously, though it quickly died in her throat. "I don't—are you saying there's a storm coming?"

He shook his head. "No. The storm is not in the air, but in the lives of people. You—Ana, yes?" He said her name as if it had been written on the wind, though she hadn't told him. Her stomach tightened. "You are about to make a choice. A choice that will ripple farther than you know. You will meet someone, or perhaps they will find you, and when they do, you must be ready. If you ignore it… If you hesitate… consequences follow, and not lightly."

Ana's heart raced. "How do you know my name?"

The man's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "Some things are not about knowing, but about seeing. I see what is coming. I cannot tell you everything—sometimes, knowing too much can destroy a person—but I can warn you. And you, Ana, you must listen."

He stepped closer, but the movement was careful, deliberate, almost reverent. "In three days, a visitor will arrive at your door. You will not know them, yet their presence will shake the foundations of what you believe. Trust will not come easily, and fear will press like a stone against your chest. You must remember: the truth they carry is heavier than it seems. And there is a choice—always a choice. How you respond will change not only your life but the lives of those around you. And it will reach farther than you imagine."

Ana shivered. The air had cooled, and the shadows of the cypresses were stretching long across the cobblestones, intertwining like threads of some intricate, dark tapestry. "Why me? Why are you telling me this?"

The man looked at her, his eyes deep, like dark water reflecting moonlight. "Because someone has to. The world does not always give second chances. You are the one who can act."

For a moment, silence wrapped around them, and the gentle lap of waves was the only sound between his words and her racing thoughts. Then Ana, shaking slightly, asked, "And if I don't? What happens if I ignore your warning?"

His gaze hardened, though his voice remained calm. "Then regret will follow you like a shadow, not just for days, but for years. You will feel the weight of what could have been, and you will never fully understand why. The world… it can be merciless to those who fail to see what is right in front of them."

Ana's pulse thundered in her ears. She wanted to laugh again, wanted to shake off the sudden dread, but the chill of his words clung to her like a second skin. "How do I know you're not… not… I don't know, mad?"

The man's expression softened, almost pitying. "Mad? Perhaps. Or perhaps sane enough to see the currents before they reach the shore. You will decide that soon enough."

Before Ana could respond, he turned toward the cypress-lined path leading up into the hills. His movements were swift, silent, as if he could dissolve into the shadows themselves. "Remember," he said over his shoulder, "three days. And when they come, do not hesitate. The choice will be yours, but the outcome… is not."

Then he was gone, leaving only the faintest echo of his presence, and Ana was alone. The golden light of sunset had faded into a violet dusk, and the harbour looked almost dreamlike, unreal. She stared at the spot where he had been, her mind a tangle of questions and uneasy anticipation.

The next three days passed in a blur. Ana went about her routine, yet everything seemed tinged with unease. Even the Adriatic, calm and glittering under the sun, seemed to hum with anticipation. At night, she dreamt of the man, of shadows moving along the cliffs, and of a stranger knocking on her door. Each dream ended with the same weight pressing on her chest, the same unspoken warning.

On the third evening, just as the sky shifted from rose to indigo, there was a knock at her apartment door. She froze, her pulse leaping into her throat. The man's warning thundered in her mind: *do not hesitate*.

She opened the door.

A young woman stood there, soaked from a sudden evening rain, her dark hair clinging to her face, her eyes wide and luminous with something Ana could not immediately name—fear, perhaps, or urgency.

"Are you Ana?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Ana swallowed, her mouth dry. "Yes… I'm Ana. Can I help you?"

The woman hesitated, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting someone to follow. "I… I don't have much time. They are… looking for me. I don't know who to trust. I need a place… for just a night. Please."

Ana's mind raced. Everything the stranger had said—the warning, the impending choice—crashed over her like a wave. She could shut the door. She could refuse, tell the woman to leave. But something in the woman's eyes—something almost imploring, desperate—made her remember the weight of the choice.

"Come in," Ana said quietly, stepping aside.

The woman entered, dripping rainwater onto the tile floor. Ana fetched a towel, silently observing her. There was an intensity in her gaze, a story untold, and Ana felt the gravity of the stranger's words settle over her shoulders like a cloak.

"I don't have much time," the woman repeated, as Ana handed her the towel. "They… they'll find me. They… they'll do anything to make sure I don't speak. But if I can… if I survive tonight… I'll tell someone. Someone who can change things."

Ana nodded, the decision already made, though the weight of it pressed down hard. "You'll be safe here," she said. "At least for tonight."

Night deepened. The wind rose from the sea, rattling shutters and carrying a faint scent of brine. Ana offered the woman a chair and a cup of tea, and for a few tense minutes, they sat in silence. Finally, the woman spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"My name is Mara," she said. "I've… I've seen things. Things that shouldn't exist. People who… who are planning events that will change the country, the towns, the lives of people. I don't know why, but I know they'll come for me if I reveal it. And they will come soon."

Ana felt a chill crawl up her spine. The stranger's warning had not been wrong—Mara's arrival was the choice, the catalyst, and Ana had taken it upon herself to act. "What… what do you mean by events?" Ana asked, her voice shaking.

Mara shook her head. "I can't explain everything. Not yet. There's… there are people with power, dangerous people. They're planning something in the north, something that will ripple across the coast. If I… if I speak, lives will be saved. But they'll stop me if they can."

The clock ticked, the wind howled, and Ana realised that the next hours would demand courage she hadn't known she possessed.

The knock at the door came suddenly, shattering the quiet. Ana stiffened. Mara's face went pale.

"They've found me," she whispered.

Ana's heart pounded. Her choice was immediate: to hide Mara, to protect her, or to let fear dictate inaction. The stranger's words echoed in her mind: Do not hesitate.

She grabbed a spare coat and ushered Mara toward the back exit, where a narrow path led down toward the cliffs and a small abandoned boathouse she had often admired from afar but never visited. Together, they slipped through the shadows, the night air sharp against their faces.

Behind them, the sound of approaching footsteps, faint but insistent, carried across the cobblestones. Ana's pulse raced. Fear twisted in her stomach, but determination burned brighter. They reached the boathouse, and Ana pushed the door open.

Inside, the smell of salt and old wood enveloped them. Mara sank onto a crate, trembling, and Ana stood at the entrance, listening. The footsteps stopped, then receded, leaving an eerie silence.

Ana exhaled slowly. She had acted. She had chosen. And in that choice, she felt a strange exhilaration, a surge of power tempered by responsibility.

Mara looked up at her, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and gratitude. "You… you saved me. You chose to help, even though you didn't know me."

Ana nodded, voice steady. "I didn't know what was coming. But I couldn't ignore it."

For a moment, they sat together in the dim light, listening to the waves below and the whispers of the wind through the broken slats of the boathouse. Outside, the world continued, oblivious. But inside, Ana understood something vital: the future, uncertain as it always is, can be shaped by the choices of a single person. And sometimes, a stranger's warning is not to frighten you, but to prepare you.

Dawn broke over the Adriatic, soft pink spilling over the cliffs. Ana and Mara emerged from the boathouse, wet but unbroken. The danger was not gone, and the coming days would test them in ways they could not yet imagine. But Ana felt, for the first time, that she had a role in the unfolding story of the world around her. She had been warned, yes, but she had acted. And that, she realised, made all the difference.

The stranger had vanished, as he had promised, leaving only the warning and the choice. Ana did not know where he had gone, or if she would ever see him again. But in the quiet light of dawn, she understood the truth: the future is not entirely beyond our grasp. It is shaped by courage, by action, by the willingness to step forward when the unknown comes knocking.

And for Ana, the knock had come.