My male coworker saw my lunch one day and asked, “That smells amazing. Any chance you could make me one?” I smiled and said, “Sure. Just bring the container back clean.” He did. But when I opened it, I gasped in horror. Inside was a note: “Get away from him before it’s too late.”

I stared at it, my hands frozen. The note wasn’t signed. It was scribbled in thick, blocky letters on a ripped piece of paper towel. For a second, I wondered if it was a prank. Maybe someone was just being dramatic or funny.

But something about the shaky handwriting and the word “before it’s too late” made my stomach drop. I looked up across the office, scanning faces. My coworker—Andrei—was at his desk, typing something, completely unaware. Or pretending to be.

I slid the note into my bag and sat down, pretending nothing had happened. But all I could think about for the rest of the day was: who wrote that, and why?

Andrei had only been working at the company for two months. He was charming, good at his job, and most people liked him. I had been friendly with him, nothing romantic, but we talked often, and he always seemed genuinely kind.

Maybe too kind.

That evening, I showed the note to my roommate, Mara. She raised her eyebrows. “You sure it wasn’t from him? Maybe it’s his weird way of being funny?”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would he ask for lunch, then leave a note in the container warning me about himself?”

Mara nodded slowly. “Unless he didn’t pack it back himself. Maybe someone else got to it.”

That thought chilled me even more. Was someone else watching? Who else knew I was making lunch for him?

The next morning, I took a longer route to work. I wasn’t paranoid exactly, but I kept checking over my shoulder. Nothing unusual. But I couldn’t let it go.

When I got to the office, I decided to try something. I casually asked Andrei, “Hey, how was the chicken yesterday?”

He smiled. “Delicious. You have magic hands.”

I chuckled, but I was studying his face. “Did you pack the container back this morning yourself?”

He paused. “Yeah. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering if the sauce spilled or anything.”

He shook his head, not even a flicker of suspicion on his face.

That should’ve eased my nerves, but it didn’t. If he was lying, he was a very good liar. And if he wasn’t, someone had tampered with his stuff.

I decided not to make him lunch again. When he asked a few days later, I said I was too busy.

But I started paying more attention to the people around him. And around me.

That’s when I noticed her.

There was a woman in the office—Olivia—quiet, always kept to herself. She had started around the same time as Andrei, but they didn’t talk much. At least not in front of others.

But once, during lunch break, I saw Olivia staring at us while Andrei was chatting with me. Not subtly. Just… watching.

And when our eyes met, she looked away quickly, almost guilty.

I started wondering if Olivia wrote the note.

So one afternoon, I stayed late and waited until the office was nearly empty. Then I walked over to Olivia’s desk, pretending I had a question about a client. She looked nervous when I came over.

“Hey,” I said casually. “Can I ask you something weird?”

She nodded slowly.

“Did you write this?” I showed her the note.

Her eyes widened. She looked down quickly, then back at me. “You found it.”

“You did write it?”

She glanced around the office, lowered her voice. “I had to. I wasn’t sure how else to warn you.”

My heart pounded. “Warn me about what?”

She bit her lip. “Andrei. He’s not who he says he is.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

She looked around again. “Not here. After work?”

We met at a little coffee shop nearby. Olivia looked pale, like someone carrying a weight for too long.

“I used to work with him before,” she said. “At another company. Different city. He went by a different name then—Adrian. I didn’t recognize him at first, but it’s definitely him.”

I stared at her. “Are you serious?”

She nodded. “There was… an incident. A coworker of mine. She was friendly with him too. Started bringing him lunch, just like you. Then she started getting weird messages. Things would move around in her apartment. She thought she was losing her mind.”

“What happened to her?”

“She quit. Filed a police report before she left, but there wasn’t enough evidence. She said he followed her. Harassed her. But he covered his tracks. Left town before anything stuck.”

My stomach turned.

Olivia continued, “I wanted to go to HR when I realized who he was. But I didn’t have proof. If I went to them with just a hunch and no evidence, they’d think I was paranoid. So I figured… maybe I could warn you.”

I sat back, stunned. It sounded unreal. But Olivia didn’t seem like the kind to lie.

“Do you still have anything? Emails, photos, something from back then?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I deleted everything when I left. I just wanted to be safe.”

I thanked her and walked home in a daze. Part of me didn’t want to believe her. But the more I thought about it, the more pieces started to click.

Andrei had once asked me where I lived, casually. Said he might move into the neighborhood. Another time, he mentioned seeing me at the gym—except I hadn’t told anyone at work I went there. That had felt odd then. Now it felt… calculated.

The next day, I made a decision. I went to HR.

I didn’t accuse him outright. I just said I’d heard some troubling things and was uncomfortable. I asked them to look into his background.

They said they’d handle it discreetly.

A few days passed. Then a week.

Then Andrei didn’t show up for work.

Later that afternoon, our HR rep called me in. She looked tense.

“We need to thank you,” she said. “After your concern, we ran a background check. Turns out ‘Andrei’ applied using a fake identity. He’s been using multiple names over the last five years. Several complaints of harassment. None led to charges, but enough to be alarming. We’ve reported him.”

I was stunned. “So he’s gone?”

“Terminated. We’re assisting law enforcement now.”

I walked out of that office feeling like I’d dodged something huge.

That night, I messaged Olivia and told her the news. She cried. Said she finally felt free from something she didn’t even realize still haunted her.

But it didn’t end there.

About two weeks later, I got a message from a random email. Just two words: “Thank you.”

I froze. No sender name. Just those words.

I told Olivia. She said she got the same.

We both blocked the address.

Life started going back to normal. But the experience changed something in me.

I became more careful. More aware. Not paranoid—but attentive. I started helping newer women at work feel safe. I told HR we needed better vetting processes. They listened.

And I stayed in touch with Olivia. We became close. Turns out we had more in common than just a shared scare. We liked the same books. Same stupid office memes. We even started a lunch swap once a week.

Six months later, we took a trip together. No notes. No shadows. Just laughter and the sound of waves on a beach we both needed more than we realized.

There was one last twist.

One morning, Mara called me into the living room, pale.

“Uh… I think you need to see this.”

She pointed at the TV. A news report. “A man known to use multiple identities has been arrested in another state under allegations of stalking and impersonation.” His mugshot appeared.

It was him.

But his name wasn’t Andrei. It wasn’t Adrian either.

It was something else entirely.

He had taken on at least four aliases over six years, always targeting workplaces with high turnover, charming his way in, then causing psychological chaos before vanishing.

They caught him this time because of a tip. Anonymous. But I had a gut feeling Olivia and I had something to do with it.

The karma had finally caught up to him.

And maybe the note in that lunchbox—scary as it was—saved both of us.

Life Lesson? Sometimes the smallest things—a lunchbox, a quiet warning, a gut feeling—can change everything. Listen to your instincts. Look out for others. Speak up even if your voice shakes.

And never ignore a warning just because it’s inconvenient.

If this story moved you or made you reflect, share it with someone. You never know who might need to hear it. And don’t forget to like—so more people learn that even kindness can come with courage.