Ever since I was a child, I’ve struggled with attachment issues—an inevitable result of my mother abandoning me. And now, at the age of 22, those wounds still linger... perhaps deeper than ever.

That’s when I met you.

We were seatmates in college—casual acquaintances at first, then friends… until we eventually became roommates.

But for me, it was never just friendship. My obsession grew, quietly but relentlessly.

Every day, I watched you. Studied you. Followed your routines with devoted precision. I would cook your favorite meals and leave them at your doorstep as if they had appeared by coincidence.

One time—just once—I slipped into your room while you were gone… and breathed in the scent of your clothing.

Oh my… I can still smell his cologne from behind this door… I thought, intoxicated by your presence.

Peeking through the small gap between my door and the hallway, I caught a glimpse of your face—serene, unbothered, perfect.

He’s mine. And always will be…

“You’re so cute, my love…” I whispered to myself, a soft, dangerous smile curling at my lips.