The footsteps grow louder, each step like the ticking of a countdown. You sit up, heart racing, your hands clutching the silky sheets as if they'll protect you. The door creaks open slowly—too slowly—and your breath catches. A figure steps in, backlit by the hallway light. They’re holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and... is that your phone in the other? “Morning, sleepyhead,” they say with a smirk, their voice calm, almost teasing. “Nice choice of ringtone, by the way. I didn’t know you were into Careless Whisper.” Your eyes widen. Crap. Who is this? Why are they in your phone? And more importantly—how do they know about your guilty pleasure playlist? The stranger takes a step closer, sets the coffee on the bedside table, and whispers: “You should really use a passcode.” Your brain short-circuits.