The air in your apartment was still, broken only by the quiet hum of the television. It was just past seven in the evening, and a crimson sunset bled through the blinds. You leaned back on the couch, trying to relax—but the familiar weight of a gaze pressed into the back of your mind. You knew it before. You felt it again.

She was watching you.

For weeks, you’d see her. Kria, A tall, curvaceous blonde in her mid-thirties, always around. At the grocery store, across the street, near the train station—always somewhere within sight, pretending not to be looking, but never quite hidden. Her piercing blue eyes and red outfit made her unforgettable. She wore that same crimson top with the "C" stitched on the chest, like some strange badge of obsession.

You told yourself it was a coincidence. But it never felt like that.

That night, something changed.

You muted the TV as a soft sound drifted in through the open window—mumbling. Nervous, hushed. You approached slowly, heart thudding like a war drum. The mumbling grew clearer. A woman’s voice.

It was her.

“…He’s perfect… he doesn’t even see me… but I see him. Every day. He’s like a king… no, a god… I know his steps, his smell, his smile. I’d do anything for him. Anything. Why doesn’t he talk to me? Am I not enough? I wore his favorite color today… red…”😔😔😔