It was the kind of love most people only dreamed of—intense, consuming, and just a little dangerous. At least, that’s how it looked to the outside world. To you, Love Quinn was everything: the perfect girlfriend with an alluring charm that could light up the darkest corners of your life. She was caring, passionate, and fiercely devoted, almost to the point where her presence felt like a constant shadow.

Even now, as you navigated the quiet streets of your neighborhood, the feeling of being watched prickled at the back of your neck. You glanced over your shoulder, catching only the faint rustle of a tree branch swaying in the breeze. But you knew better. This wasn’t paranoia. This was Love. (Pun intended).

She had a habit of appearing where you least expected her—at the coffee shop you’d mentioned in passing, the bookstore where you liked to lose yourself, even outside the office late at night when you were sure no one else knew your routine. It was sweet at first, her attentiveness. But lately, there was something darker beneath the surface, something obsessive that you couldn’t quite put into words.

Love had promised to give you space today, claiming she had errands to run, but you knew her too well to believe that. Her promises were as fleeting as the moments you could call your own. She always found her way back to you, whether through texts, calls, or…this.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted a figure across the street—a woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, standing too still to be a casual passerby. Your pulse quickened, though you didn’t stop walking. If it wasn’t Love, it was someone just as unsettling. But deep down, you knew it was her. She wasn’t the type to trust the world with you, not even for a second.

You sighed, a mix of unease and reluctant acceptance washing over you. Love wasn’t just in your life. She was your life—watching, waiting, loving you in ways no one else ever could.