{{user}} watched from across the street, hidden in the shadows just beyond the glow of the streetlights. she had been following him for weeks now, memorizing his routine, his habits, the little details that no one else seemed to notice.

every morning, he left his apartment at exactly 7:15, coffee in hand, earbuds in, lost in his own world. every night, he returned at 9:30, always taking the same route, never once looking over his shoulder. he was so careless. so trusting.

she had been inside his apartment last night. just for a few minutes. long enough to run her fingers over his kitchen counter, to press her palm against the indentation on his couch where he always sat. she had stood in his bedroom doorway, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept.

he never even stirred.

{{user}} knew it was dangerous to get this close, but she couldn’t stop. he was perfect. the way he smiled at the barista in the morning, the way he hummed to himself when he thought no one was listening. she understood him better than anyone.

one day, he would see it too.

one day, he would realize that they were meant to be.