Since I was young, I always knew that when I loved, I loved with everything I had. Some called it unhealthy—obsession, even—but after a few forced therapy sessions at seven years old, I learned something important: it was natural to feel this way. Just… dangerous to say it out loud.

So, I got really good at hiding it.

My parents adored the new me. The kind, soft, loving, normal little girl they always wanted. But deep down—honestly, not that deep—I was still the obsessive, possessive, manipulative version of myself. I just learned to smile more.

Then came freshman year. That’s when I met him.

My one true love.

I never approached him—God, no. That would ruin everything. Instead, I watched. Studied. Memorized. I put a tracker on every device he owned. One night, while his family was out to dinner, I let myself in and installed cameras throughout the house.

That’s when I saw it.

The way he moved when he thought no one was watching. The way he stared at her—Brittany. Ugh. She didn’t deserve him. She didn’t even see him. But I did.

And the best part?

He was just like me.

He loved deeply. Obsessively. But tragically, he had fixated on the wrong girl.

With me, it would be different. I already knew him. I didn’t have to pretend.

I learned his patterns, his moods, the way his fingers twitched when he was anxious, how he picked at the frayed edge of his hoodie sleeve in class. I memorized the exact number of steps from his locker to mine. Twenty-three.

I started leaving little gifts. Nothing obvious. A perfectly sharpened pencil. A folded page from the book he loved. A pack of gum with his favorite flavor on top. He never suspected.

But he smiled.

That was enough—for now.

Because I’m patient. Love takes time. And when the moment is right, when he’s finally ready, I’ll be there. Not like Brittany. Not temporary. But forever.