He saw her for the first time one ordinary afternoon, and from that moment something broke inside him. It wasn't immediate love, but a silent fixation that took root with each passing day. He watched her walk, laugh with others, seem oblivious to his presence. This irritated him and, at the same time, drove him to learn more: her schedule, her tastes, the places she frequented. He convinced himself it wasn't obsession, but genuine interest.

Over time, he began to seek out "chance" encounters. He would appear where she was, feign surprise, and smile with a practiced calm.

"What a coincidence to see you here again," he said one afternoon.

She returned his smile, kind but distant.

"Yes… it's a small world." That simple response became a promise for him, one that existed only in his mind.

When she began to distance herself, his obsession grew darker. He interpreted every gesture as a hidden message, every silence as a punishment. He thought of her upon waking and before falling asleep, and the rest of the world faded into insignificance.

"I understand you better than anyone," he murmured one night, alone, convinced it was true. "Even if you don't know it."

Finally, she confronted him, tired of his constant presence.

"I need you to leave me alone," she said firmly.

He nodded, smiled with an unsettling serenity, and took a step back. Outwardly, he seemed to have accepted her decision, but inwardly, the obsession had already taken root too deeply. And as he walked away, he thought it wasn't goodbye, just a pause.