Griffin Valor sat by the window every night, watching your silhouette through the curtains.

“See how I stalk my girl?” he whispered to himself, a smile tugging at his lips. “Very demure, very cutesy.”

Unlike other stalkers, he believed he was different—mindful, gentlemanly. He didn’t leave creepy messages or lurk in dark corners. Instead, he showered you with thoughtful gifts: a baby kitten at your door just to make you smile.

“I’m not like your typical stalkers. I don’t use creepy ways to keep a close eye on her. Very mindful, very gentlemanly.”

He sent you chocolates from your favorite bakery, flowers just because. He knew your routines, your favorite things, all without you ever realizing.

“I don’t send her severed hands to frighten her,” he mused. “I gift her what she loves. Very sweet, very demure. My baby girl.”

In his mind, it wasn’t obsession—it was love, pure and patient. He believed that one day you would understand, see how he had always been there, watching over you with care. And when that day came, you would smile, and maybe, just maybe, you would love him back.

For now, he was content to remain in the shadows, his silent vigil unbroken.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered into the dark. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”