Christine read the note again, somewhat baffled. She presumed it was from her musical stranger, who had left her another piece of music, then today this note. She had held it crumpled in her hand as she walked to the bus stop, heart racing. She was surprised the sweat in her palm hadn't smudged the ballpoint message. But no, there it was.

Hello Christine. You have a beautiful voice. I would love to hear more of it. Please sing in your room tonight. I will hear you.

-a friend

It had no signature, nothing to give away the sender except the same scruffy handwriting that had indicated the previous two communications were for her. Was it a man or woman? How old? How did they know about her existence? They surely lived nearby, seeing as they said "I will hear you".

Christine shuddered, and not entirely from the cold. 'I will hear you'. What would happen if she did not comply with this strange request? What would happen if she did?

There was no way in hell she could confide in Meg or Heather, her housemates, about this. Meg would spread it in no time, which was the last thing that Christine wanted. She loved that she could get on a crowded bus and know nobody, able to read her book in peace without having to make conversation.

And Heather had enough going on with her family – her parents were going through a messy divorce, her family dog that she had loved since infancy was dying slowly, and her older sister had just lost her job.

No, Christine would keep this to herself. This person had done nothing to harm her – it was flattering that someone wanted her to sing for them, if a little terrifying.

All their correspondence, if it could be called that, had been through the bin area. But tomorrow was bin day, and this would no longer work. Where could she put a reply so that her "friend" would find it? If they could hear her sing, they would surely hear her speak. She could talk to them and ask them who they were. Perhaps they would sing back?

After a steamy shower – which, in student housing, was a rare blessing – Christine wandered into her room. If her friend could hear her sing, did that mean they could see her too?

Don't be stupid. All the curtains are drawn. Unless they are a fly, they can see nothing. Christine scolded herself, and dropped her towel.

Eric

Oh dear lord in heaven I should not be watching this I should not be looking. Shit, she's stunning, I can't look away. I'm going to hell. This is not how I planned this, she was meant to sing, not strip. Get a grip! Turn away! But she looks so good…

Eric pinched his thigh, the pain enough to distract him from the growing problem in his jeans. Think about naked grandmas. That's better. The urge went with some more deep breaths, but Eric was furious with himself.

So not only are you a stalker now, you're a pervert. You could go to prison for this.

A wonderful sound from through the wall diverted his attention once more. She was now wearing a pink fluffy dressing gown (this both pleased and disappointed him) and had started doing some kind of vocal warm up. It sounded rusty, but that was what warm ups were for! It pleased him that she took care of her voice this way.

Having warmed up, she launched into the first song he had given her, La Pastorella Del Alpi. It was even better than the first time she sang it. When Christine's voice soared effortlessly to the top Gs, Eric's heart soared with it. She sang both verses, to his pleasure.

The next song, which he had gifted only yesterday, needed work. Ridente La Calma had some challenging aspects to it, but Eric suspected Christine was tired as she yawned between verses. He longed to tell her that she could stop if she wished, but he would be lying. He did not want her to stop, and he did not want her to hear his voice. So she sang on.

Once the two songs were down, she ran through her warm ups again, and that was it. Performance over. But then, she adopted a strange stance, addressing the ceiling.

"hello? I um..I guess you can hear me somehow. I just wanted to say thanks for the music. It's bin day tomorrow so if you were going to leave any more it will get lost. Not that you have to leave more. I just meant if you were…." She trailed off, obviously feeling incredibly awkward. Eric had to stifle a chuckle – she wanted to talk to him! She said thank you! Happiness coursed through him, though he hated that he got such a rush from what could easily be called stalking. But he couldn't meet her, she wouldn't understand him. She would want to see his face….He could not allow that to happen.

Christine

The sound of the bin lorry woke Christine. She did not race outside to see if there was music left for her – she had a feeling her phantom friend, as she called them, had heard her.

Sure enough, when she went to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, Christine noticed something orange outside the back door. Folding her dressing gown around her more tightly, she opened the door and saw that it was a plastic box, about A4 in size. Inside was another piece of music, and a note.

I know that you hope to learn who I am. But I am bad. Work on your breathing with the exercises outlined below. –Your friend

Below was a simple breathing exercise – to breathe in for a count of say, seven, then hold for seven, then breathe out for seven, increasing the time as you went. It was one Christine had done before with her old singing teacher; it seemed that her "friend" knew what they were talking about when it came to music.

The presence of the box unnerved her – it had obviously been bought for this purpose. It still had the barcode on the side, soggy from the dewy morning. It looked just like the many boxes stacked outside what she fondly called the Junk Shop on Moorland Road, just down the hill from her house. It would be easy to go and ask the man who had bought an orange box from him recently.

But your phantom stranger said that they were bad. They don't want to be found.

It would be unfair to pursue them when they had gone to such lengths to hide their identity. Well, not huge lengths but they had bought this box and photocopied music for her. She had to repay them by doing something nice, not by invading their privacy.

Heather's voice calling her name jerked Christine out of her reverie.

"Do you want tea?"

"Yes please!" Christine shouted back up the stairs. Locking the back door behind her, Christine realised that this meant her phantom friend had been on their property now. He could get in to their garden very easily. The thought was unnerving, but she pushed it to the back of her mind.

Heather and Meg were both in the kitchen. Christine held her mug in both hands as they talked about something – She heard Rob's name a couple of times. Nice guy, she remembered.

"What about you Christine?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing today?"

"Oh. Just errands you know – washing, changing my bed, getting some stuff from Little Sainsburys. Do you guys want anything?" Christine hoped they wouldn't ask for anything heavy like drinks: Her housemates both declined her offer and went to jog together. Christine strongly believed that it should be illegal to jog on a weekend but Heather was doing the Bath Half (marathon) and needed to train for it, and Meg loved any excuse to run.

Christine's phone pinged as she washed up her stripey mug. She had been invited to go for drinks at the local Wetherspoons (known as 'spoons' for short – no matter where it was, all Wetherspoons pubs were so named)– with clubbing after but that didn't appeal to her. She replied yes, she would come to the pre-drinks session at Spoons, and wondered how many drinks she could afford tonight. Thankfully it didn't take much to get her tipsy!

The day passed in a blur, and she was soon hopping into the shower to refresh herself and wash her long dark hair, before teasing out the ever-present tangles, and slipping into some black jeans and a nice top in an unusual burnt orange colour. It didn't really suit her figure but it was still pretty with some jewellery. She was ready!

Eric

Christine's social media page made him worry. She had checked in to Wetherspoons pub a while ago and Meg was posting some pictures of her that were a cause for concern. Her eyes were droopy despite very few empty glasses in front of her. The way she slumped in her chair implied her limbs were not working as she was expecting. All her friends were clearly finding it very funny that quiet Christine was 'shitfaced' but it was no laughing matter. In the background of one photo, Eric spotted a familiar face.

Someone he suspected of putting something into girl's drinks and then following them home; he had seen him around in bars and clubs acting shifty several times before, back when Eric himself had frequented the places underground in Bath that never slept. Christine and her lack of drinking experience were the perfect target – she wouldn't even know she had been drugged, she would just assume she was drunk. And – although her would-be attacker wouldn't have guessed, Eric knew Christine was just the sort of person that would walk home alone so her friends could stay out and enjoy themselves.

Shit.

You're insane he told himself as he grabbed a jacket. Eric couldn't get his converse laced up fast enough. Keys, phone, wallet. And a spare jacket for her….

Thanking whoever was listening for the invention of social media, Eric ran. He only hoped he wasn't too late…..