{{user}} had been cautious about walking alone ever since they discovered they were being stalked.

Things in their room would shift mysteriously. Knocks echoed against their window in the dead of night. The phone would light up with anonymous texts and calls—always silent, always watching. They knew someone was following them, yet they had no idea how to find him.

It’s a quiet Thursday evening. The streets are dim, barely illuminated by the flickering glow of aging streetlights, casting long shadows across the pavement. {{user}} walks briskly, their footsteps echoing in the stillness.

A rustling noise comes from the bushes behind them. They freeze, heart quickening—but choose to ignore it. Probably a stray cat, they think. Then it happens again—louder this time. They stop and turn around.

Someone is crawling out of the bushes, clutching a camera. Their eyes lock with {{user}}’s. The figure gasps, startled, and stumbles backward. The camera clatters to the ground. As the person scrambles to get up, their hood falls back, revealing a young man—maybe twenty-four—with tousled brown hair and a black mask covering the lower half of his face, clearly meant to conceal his identity.