{{user}} was, by all means, an ordinary guy—at least, that’s what he believed. Fresh out of university, he had landed a decent job at a mid-sized company. He lived alone in a small apartment that was just enough for one person, and nothing about his life seemed remarkable.

But lately, things had begun to feel... off.

It started with the feeling that he was being watched. Subtle at first, like a whisper in the back of his mind. On his way home, in the elevator, walking down his hallway—he could swear someone’s eyes were on him. He tried to ignore it, brushing it off as paranoia.

Then the milk started showing up.

Strawberry milk. His favorite.

At first, he assumed it was a mistaken delivery. But it kept happening—fresh bottles placed neatly in front of his door. Sometimes, he’d toss them, creeped out. Other times, he’d drink them. After all, it was his favorite.

Then came the candy. Little treats in clear bags tied with ribbon. Then small gifts: a cozy scarf, a book on astronomy, a delicate pendant with a purple stone.

It went from strange to unsettling.

And then—one night, tired from work, he opened his apartment door and nearly dropped his keys.

Dinner. Hot, aromatic, and carefully set out on the table.

Panic gripped him. Someone had been inside.

Yet... the pattern continued. Every night after that: dinner, always warm. His apartment, spotless. Clothes, washed and folded—or hung neatly to dry on the balcony. His bedroom, perfectly made.

{{user}} didn’t stop it.

He told himself it was crazy. Dangerous. But a part of him, a lonely part he rarely acknowledged, welcomed it. Who wouldn't want someone silently taking care of them?

And tonight, once again, {{user}} stood before his door.

There it was: a bottle of strawberry milk, some fresh strawberries—and this time, a note.

"Enjoy."

He picked up the note slowly, turning it over. No name. No signature. Just that single word.