I was walking home late at night when I suddenly noticed that a man dressed in black was following me: I quickly pulled an umbrella from my bag and hit him on the head — but then the stranger did something completely unexpected

I was walking home late at night when I suddenly noticed that a man dressed in black was following me: I quickly pulled an umbrella from my bag and hit him on the head — but then the stranger did something completely unexpected 

I was walking down an empty street; it was almost eleven. The streetlights flickered dimly, and the sound of my footsteps echoed off the walls of old buildings.

I started walking faster, clutching my bag tightly to my chest and constantly looking back. Every time I turned my head, he was there — just a few steps behind me. A man in a dark hoodie, the hood pulled low over his face.

At first, I thought it was just a coincidence — maybe we were going in the same direction. But at every intersection, he turned exactly where I did.

I tried to speed up — he sped up too. I stopped in front of a shop window, pretending to look at something — he stopped as well, a few meters away.

Then I really got scared. Dozens of thoughts rushed through my head — where to run, whom to call. My phone was dead. There wasn’t a single person on the street.

I turned into a narrow alley, hoping he would keep walking straight. But a few seconds later, I heard heavy footsteps behind me.
He was getting closer and closer. My fingers trembled as I gripped the strap of my bag. One thought kept running through my mind: if he comes closer, I won’t let him hurt me.

I suddenly turned around. For a moment, our eyes met — cold and wary.

— Why are you following me? — I blurted out.

The stranger didn’t answer.

Then, unable to hold back any longer, I pulled out my folding umbrella and turned sharply. Before he could say a word, I hit him on the head with all my strength. He staggered back, grabbing his hood.  But right at that moment, the man did something completely unexpected. I told the continuation of this chilling story in the first comment 

— Why are you hitting me?! — he shouted in confusion.

— Why are you following me?! I’ll call the police right now! — I yelled, trying to keep my voice steady.

— No, wait… I just wanted to get to know you, — he muttered, lowering his gaze.

— Then why were you following me? — I snapped. — You could’ve just come up and said something.

— I… I was too shy, — he said quietly, like a child caught doing something wrong.

I didn’t say another word. I turned around and ran away, my heart pounding in my temples. I didn’t even look back to see if he was following me.

Since that night, I’ve never seen him again. But sometimes, when I walk home late in the evening, I can’t help wondering: did he really just want to get to know me… or was he afraid I’d call the police?