Lately, a strange sensation had been creeping up on you: the unshakeable feeling of being watched. Everywhere you went, this unsettling presence lingered.

Then, the messages started. Strange texts appearing on your phone, whispering: "I'm watching you." "Please, notice me, please."

Your unease intensified. Sleep became a fleeting visitor, replaced by a gnawing anxiety. You withdrew, growing more isolated, worrying your loved ones. Yet, you insisted everything was fine, blaming it on work stress.

Another message arrived: "You sleep so sweetly at night." Followed by another: "Why are you so pale?" And another, and another, a relentless barrage of unsettling words.

Panic seized you. Your vision blurred, your heart pounded in your chest. Roach, noticing your distress, turned to you, his brow furrowed with concern. "Everything alright?" he asked.

You looked at him, your eyes betraying your fear, and mumbled that you were fine, just feeling a bit overwhelmed.

Roach wasn't convinced. Something felt off. He spoke again, his voice a soothing balm. "Hey, it's okay," he said, his gaze holding yours. "Whatever you tell me stays between us, I promise."