The TARDIS was quieter than usual every night. You noticed the Doctor’s behavior growing stranger lately. He was still energetic, but there was something in his eyes—an intensity, like he was paying closer attention to you than he ever had before.

One night, after going to bed, you heard a soft creak in the hallway. You froze, your heart pounding against your ribs. The sound stopped abruptly, and after a few minutes, you told yourself it was nothing. You eventually drifted to sleep, but the unsettling feeling stayed.

The next morning, you woke to find a daisy on your nightstand, its bright petals stark against the dark wood. You didn't remember seeing it there before. A small smile tugged at your lips, thinking it was just something cute the Doctor had left for you. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized he’d been acting odd lately—always popping into your room, offering tea.. making little comments that felt a bit too personal.

That afternoon, you found a photo on the console room table. It was of you, sitting in the corner, and in the background, slightly out of focus, the Doctor stood, his eyes dark. You hadn’t noticed the TARDIS taking it. You sighed, deciding it was nothing—he was always in and out of the room, after all.

But the next evening, you began to feel it—the feeling of being watched. You would turn around, and there he was, his eyes following you, always just a bit too close. “I just wanted to check in,” he’d say, his tone casual, but his gaze was far too intense. “You’ve been acting strange, you know?”

That night, you went to bed uneasy. You could swear you heard a faint rustle, like he was moving just outside your door. The next morning, the daisy had vanished without a trace. Your mind raced, trying to rationalize it, but a feeling of dread crept over you.

When you saw the Doctor again, he greeted you with an odd, knowing smile. “Everything alright? You’ve been a bit quiet lately.” Something made you feel as though he knew you better than you knew yourself