Hey everyone! I’m a new writer, and I’ve recently started working on my first psychological thriller, The Observer.
The story follows Adrian Cole, a man who’s spent most of his life being overlooked by the people around him. He’s always been observant, noticing the little things others miss. But when he starts losing hours of his memory and finds himself connected to a series of murders, he begins to question what’s real and what he can trust.
I’m going for a psychological thriller with mystery, suspense, and twists that make you look back at everything you’ve read differently.
I’ve just finished the first chapter, “Strangers,” and I’d really appreciate it if some of you could read it and give me your honest thoughts.
A few things I’d love feedback on:
Does the opening grab your attention?
Does it make you curious about what happens next?
Does the writing feel natural and easy to follow?
Is there anything that feels confusing, boring, or needs improvement?
I’m genuinely open to criticism, so don’t feel like you have to be nice just for the sake of it. I’m still learning, and I’d rather know what isn’t working so I can improve.
I’ll paste the first chapter below. Thanks to anyone who takes the time to read it. I appreciate it.
_________________________________________
Chapter One: Strangers
Nobody notices strangers.
Adrian Cole had spent years proving it.
Every morning, the same crowd filled the plaza outside the subway entrance in downtown Westbridge. People rushed through the intersection with coffee cups in their hands and their eyes fixed on their phones. Cars moved slowly through the traffic, horns sounded in the distance, and footsteps echoed against the pavement.
Everyone seemed to be going somewhere.
And yet, nobody really looked at anyone.
Adrian sat on a metal bench across from the intersection, a small black notebook resting on his knee. From there, he could see four crosswalks, two security cameras, and hundreds of people moving through the plaza.
He had been sitting there for fifty-three minutes.
In that time, exactly one person had looked directly at him.
A child.
Adults rarely looked. They glanced at faces as they passed, but their eyes moved on before they had a chance to remember anything.
Adrian opened his notebook and uncapped his pen.
Observation #217
In crowded places, people rarely remember unfamiliar faces, even moments after passing them.
He tapped the pen against the page.
This wasn't a guess. He had tested it dozens of times over the past year. Subway platforms, grocery stores, busy streets. Different places, different people, the same result.
People noticed movement. They noticed obstacles. They noticed anything that interrupted their routine.
But a stranger sitting quietly on a bench?
Most people would forget he was there before they had even walked away.
Adrian knew because he had spent most of his life being that stranger.
At school, he had been the boy in the corner. He had few friends and rarely spoke unless somebody spoke to him first. He wasn't bullied, and nobody hated him. Most people simply didn't think about him at all.
When classmates made plans, they rarely remembered to include him. When teachers called attendance, his name was just another name on the list.
After a while, Adrian stopped expecting people to notice him.
Instead, he started noticing them.
He paid attention to the little things people did without thinking. The way someone's mood changed when a certain person entered a room. The way a smile disappeared when nobody was looking. The way people sometimes said one thing but did another.
Nobody had taught him to observe. It had happened naturally, over years of sitting quietly while life unfolded around him.
By the time he was older, observing had become second nature. He listened more than he spoke, watched before he acted, and remembered details other people overlooked.
He never felt the need to tell anyone what he noticed.
It was simply how he experienced the world.
Now, he had turned that habit into something he could test.
Adrian looked up at the security camera mounted above the intersection.
It was slowly turning from one side of the street to the other.
Then he smiled.
Because he knew something most people in Westbridge didn't.
Even the cameras missed things.
He had spent months watching the cameras around the plaza. They followed the same patterns, turning from one side to the other before returning to where they had started.
People trusted cameras because they believed cameras saw everything.
Adrian knew better.
A camera could record a street without recording every detail that mattered. A person could pass through a busy intersection and leave almost nothing behind in the minds of the people around them.
And sometimes, even a camera could miss the moment that mattered.
He checked the time on his phone.
The camera turned again.
Adrian closed his notebook and stood.
No one noticed.
He stepped into the morning crowd, moving with the people crossing the street. A woman hurried past with her eyes fixed on her phone. Two teenagers brushed shoulders while laughing at something on a screen. A man nearly walked into Adrian before muttering a quick apology and continuing without looking back.
Adrian watched him disappear into the crowd.
Ten seconds later, the man probably couldn't have described what Adrian looked like.
Adrian crossed the street and stopped beside a newspaper stand.
Behind the glass, a television played the morning news. The sound was low, almost lost beneath the traffic.
He opened his notebook again.
Observation #218
An individual can move through dozens of strangers without leaving a lasting memory.
He paused before writing another line.
The safest place to disappear is in plain sight.
Adrian looked at the sentence for a moment, then closed the notebook.
Behind him, the television grew louder.
"...Westbridge police are investigating after a body was discovered late last night near Riverside District."
Adrian stopped.
He turned toward the television.
The reporter stood in front of a stretch of road near the river. Police lights flashed behind her, and yellow tape blocked off part of the pavement.
"...the identity of the victim has not yet been released. Investigators are asking anyone who was in the area last night to come forward."
The vendor inside the stand reached for the remote and turned up the volume.
"...the body was discovered shortly after midnight, along the Riverside walking path, just two blocks from Central Plaza."
Two blocks.
Adrian slowly closed his notebook.
He knew Riverside District.
He had walked there the night before.
He could remember the streetlights reflecting off the water. He could remember the metal railing that ran along the path and the sound of cars passing on the road behind him.
He remembered being there.
But when he tried to picture what had happened afterward, his mind went blank.
Adrian stood still, staring at the television.
Maybe he had gone straight home. Maybe he had stopped somewhere along the way. There were plenty of ordinary explanations for a night he couldn't remember clearly.
But then he tried to picture himself arriving at his apartment.
Nothing.
He couldn't remember unlocking his front door. He couldn't remember taking off his coat or going to bed.
He couldn't remember getting home at all.
Adrian took out his phone and checked the time.
8:17 a.m.
He tried once more to picture the walk from Riverside to his apartment.
The road. The streetlights. The buildings.
Then nothing.
It wasn't like trying to remember a dream that faded the harder he chased it. The memories before that point were clear. He could recall the smallest details of the walk.
But the hours that followed were missing.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
Adrian had always trusted his memory. Remembering small details was part of what made his observations useful. He could recall conversations from weeks earlier and recognize changes in people's behavior that others never noticed.
Yet now, there was a blank space where an entire part of his night should have been.
Behind him, the news continued.
"...police have not confirmed whether the death is being treated as suspicious. Security footage from nearby streets is now being reviewed."
Security footage.
Adrian looked up at the camera above the intersection.
For a moment, he watched it turn from one side of the street to the other.
Then he looked away.
He had no reason to believe the body had anything to do with him. He hadn't even heard the victim's name. Being near Riverside the night before didn't make him guilty of anything.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
He slipped his notebook into his coat pocket and started walking.
The morning crowd moved around him, adjusting their paths without giving him much thought. People passed on either side, already busy with their own lives.
Just like always.
Halfway down the block, Adrian glanced at his hand.
A thin scratch ran across the skin just below his wrist.
He stopped walking.
The mark was small, but the skin around it was red. It looked fresh.
He turned his hand toward the light, studying it.
It could have come from anything. A rough wall. A loose nail. The metal railing beside the river.
He tried to remember catching his hand on something the night before.
Nothing came to mind.
Adrian lowered his arm.
He was certain the scratch hadn't been there when he left his apartment yesterday.
Or at least, he thought he was certain.
That was the problem.
He could no longer trust what he remembered about the night before.
He looked back toward the newspaper stand. The television was still showing the report, with the same stretch of road and the same flashing police lights.
Then he looked toward Riverside District.
For the first time that morning, he wondered whether he should be worried about the missing hours.
Not because he had proof that he had done something wrong.
But because he had no proof that he hadn't.
Adrian started walking again, faster this time.
He needed to get home. He needed to check his apartment, look through his messages, and work out what he had done the night before.
There had to be something he could use to fill in the missing hours.
A receipt. A message. A call. Anything.
As he approached the subway entrance, his phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
Did you sleep well?
Adrian stopped.
He read it again, then looked at the number. There was no name attached to it, no profile picture, nothing that told him who had sent it.
He typed a reply.
Who is this?
He waited.
No answer came.
A train rumbled beneath the pavement, and the crowd began moving toward the entrance. Someone brushed past his shoulder. Another person stepped around him without looking up.
Adrian barely noticed them.
His attention was fixed on the screen.
The message didn't prove anything. It could have been a wrong number, a prank, or someone he knew trying to get a reaction out of him.
But whoever had sent it had contacted him on the same morning he had discovered he couldn't account for part of the previous night.
He looked down at the scratch on his wrist.
Then back at the message.
He had spent years watching people, studying their habits, and learning how easily someone could go unnoticed.
He had always believed that if something important happened in front of him, he would notice.
But what if something important had happened while he wasn't paying attention?
What if it had happened while he was somewhere he couldn't remember being?
Adrian put his phone away and descended the subway stairs.
Above him, the morning crowd continued through Westbridge as if nothing had happened.
The cameras kept turning.
The strangers kept walking.
And somewhere in the city, someone knew exactly what Adrian had done the night before.
Even if Adrian didn't.