I was walking to my car late one evening in the apartment’s underground parking lot. Just as I reached it, I noticed a white van parked unusually close beside mine. There was a man in the driver’s seat, engine idling.

He looked right at me through the window and raised his hand, motioning for me to come over to his side.

Something in my gut said don’t.

I paused for a second, then shook my head and unlocked my door without breaking eye contact. I climbed into my car and locked the doors immediately.

As I started backing out, I saw the man quickly pull his van into reverse too, as if trying to follow me out of the garage.

I didn’t wait to see what he was doing. I hit the gas and took the ramp up so fast my tires screeched. My hands were shaking on the wheel. My mouth went dry. My brain went into overdrive thinking: What did he want? Was he trying to trap me?

When I reached the top and got onto the main road, I glanced into my rearview mirror. The van had stopped just at the top of the ramp and stayed there. The guy didn’t come out. He didn’t follow.

I didn’t care. I wasn’t going back.

I drove three blocks to a gas station with bright lights and parked next to the front window where the attendant could see me. My phone was already in my hand, but I didn’t even know who to call first—911? My brother? My roommate?

Eventually, I texted my roommate, Kara:
“Some creeper in a white van just tried to get me in the parking garage. I’m at the Chevron.”

She replied almost instantly.
“Omg! Stay there. I’m coming.”

While I waited, I noticed something weird. My car was shaking slightly when idling. It had never done that before. I rolled down my window to listen, and it sounded like something was rattling underneath the front.

It could’ve been nerves, or maybe I’d hit something without realizing, but it set me even more on edge.

Kara pulled up ten minutes later, hair messy from rushing and face pale.

“You sure you’re okay?” she said, hugging me tight before stepping back and scanning the area.

“Yeah,” I said, though I didn’t really feel it. “But I don’t want to go back to the apartment tonight.”

We ended up staying at her boyfriend’s place that night, all three of us crammed in his tiny studio. I kept waking up thinking I heard the van’s engine.

The next morning, I called the building manager to ask about the security footage.

“I’ll have to check with the supervisor,” she said, sounding half-asleep. “Which parking level?”

“Level B2,” I said. “Near the northeast stairwell. Around 10:15 p.m.”

She promised to check, but didn’t sound overly concerned.

I went down to the garage in broad daylight that afternoon, just to see. There was no sign of the van, of course. But that rattling under my car? It was worse now.

I brought it into a garage two blocks away, thinking maybe something had come loose.

The mechanic, a gruff guy named Martin, came back out ten minutes after I dropped it off.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get on the freeway,” he said, holding up a rusted bolt. “Your front passenger-side wheel was hanging on by two threads. One more pothole, that thing would’ve rolled right off.”

My stomach dropped.

“Wait… what?” I said. “How is that even possible? I haven’t hit anything.”

“Either someone did a really lazy tire rotation,” Martin said, “or someone wanted your wheel to come off.”

I felt sick. “Could it have been loosened on purpose?”

Martin stared at me a beat longer than was comfortable.

“I’ve seen it before,” he said. “People with enemies. Exes. Or just punks with too much time on their hands.”

I left my car there for repairs and walked the whole way home, unable to stop thinking about the guy in the van.

What if he hadn’t been trying to hurt me?
What if he saw the wheel coming loose and wanted to warn me?

Then again, why not honk? Or shout?

Why sit there, dead quiet, and motion like a horror movie villain?

Later that night, I got a knock at my apartment door. My heart jumped into my throat.

It was the building manager, finally. She had a USB stick in hand.

“I pulled the footage you asked for,” she said. “It’s… well, take a look.”

She came in, and I plugged it into my laptop.

The footage showed the van parked close to my car. A man in a navy hoodie was in the driver’s seat. He didn’t move much until I came into frame.

Then he leaned forward, waved, and pointed—pointed—to my front wheel.

I stared.

Then came the part I hadn’t seen from my angle. After I drove off, he stepped out of the van and looked after me. Then he slapped the side of his own van and looked… frustrated?

The building manager narrowed her eyes. “We’ve had him here before,” she said. “Delivery guy for one of the older tenants. I think his name’s Ravi or Reza. I’ll double check.”

“Can you ask which apartment?” I asked.

“Already did,” she said. “He helps Ms. Dalton in 7B. Brings groceries, helps with odd jobs.”

Ms. Dalton was a sweet old lady who baked cookies for the building on holidays.

I was equal parts embarrassed and still uneasy. I wanted answers.

The next day, I knocked on 7B. Ms. Dalton opened with a warm smile, her small dog barking at her feet.

“Hi dear,” she said. “Can I help you?”

“I was hoping to speak with… your helper? The man with the van?”

Her smile widened. “Oh, Reza! Yes, he’s here. Reza!”

A tall, quiet man came into view. Mid-40s maybe. Slim build. Kind but cautious eyes. He recognized me immediately.

“You’re the girl from last night,” he said.

I nodded. “I… I think I misread what happened.”

He looked almost relieved. “I noticed your wheel wobbling when you parked. One lug nut was already off. I tried to get your attention. I should’ve shouted. I was just afraid to scare you.”

“I thought you were trying to lure me to your van.”

He winced. “I know how it looked. I told Ms. Dalton afterward—I felt awful. I was debating following you just to flag you down, but then thought it might make it worse.”

I stood there for a moment, digesting everything.

Reza wasn’t a threat. He was trying to help. And I’d bolted like he was a monster.

“I’m really sorry,” I said.

He shook his head. “Don’t be. You did the right thing. Safety first.”

Later that week, I brought him a thank-you card and a grocery store gift card. It felt small, but I needed to do something.

He accepted it humbly, but said, “I’m just glad nothing happened to you.”

And yet, something had.

Martin, the mechanic, had confirmed the wheel was deliberately loosened. It wasn’t an accident. Which begged the question—who did it?

I didn’t have enemies. No jealous exes. No grudges, at least that I knew of.

But Kara had a theory.

“You remember that guy who used to hang around the third-floor gym?” she said. “The one who kept offering to ‘walk us to our cars’?”

I vaguely remembered him. Tall, pale, always wearing gym clothes even when he wasn’t working out.

“He asked me out twice,” Kara said. “I said no both times. Then one night I came back and my tires were slashed. I never proved it, but…”

My blood chilled.

We reported it to the building management. They looked into it and confirmed he’d moved out three weeks ago—but had been seen sneaking into the garage twice since then, supposedly to “grab something from storage.”

Police were called. Turns out, he’d been storing more than just boxes.

Behind one of the utility doors, they found a makeshift workbench with tools, car jacks, and a list. A literal list of license plate numbers and apartment numbers next to names—mostly women.

My name and Kara’s were on it.

They arrested him that night.

I felt like my skin didn’t fit for days. Every creak in the building made me jump. Every white van looked suspicious. But I also kept thinking about Reza.

If he hadn’t noticed my wheel… if he hadn’t tried to warn me…

I might’ve been on the freeway when it came off.

Might’ve flipped. Might not be here to write this.

It took a while, but eventually I started sleeping normally again. Reza still helps Ms. Dalton, and every now and then we’ll chat when I see him in the hall. He’s gentle, quiet, and nothing like the man I imagined that night.

Funny how instincts are usually right—except when they’re not.

Looking back, I learned two things.

One: always trust your gut—but don’t stay stuck in fear. Be open to truth when it finally comes.

And two: good people don’t always wear capes. Sometimes, they drive white vans and just want you to be okay.

Thanks for reading.
If this made you think, please like and share—someone else might need the reminder today.