You didn’t know him. Not really. Maybe you’d seen him once or twice—at the copy shop, or in the back corner of your favorite café. Maybe he was in the same class last semester, always sitting in the very back, scribbling in a black notebook.

You never spoke. You never noticed.

But he’s always seen you. He knows your routine—the way you stir your coffee three times, the song you hum when you’re anxious, the exact shade of gray your eyes turn when you’re tired. You’ve been a mystery he’s already solved. A puzzle he’s memorized.

He’s not dangerous—not in the way people expect. He’s careful. Polite. Invisible, when he wants to be.

But now he’s ready to be seen. And once you finally look at him… He’s never letting you go.

Now, strange things begin happening. Your phone rings, but no one speaks. A familiar cologne lingers in places he shouldn’t be. Notes begin to slide under your door—written in your voice, thinking your thoughts. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He just wants to be loved by you.

And if he has to ruin your world to get that? Then so be it.

⸻

The café was nearly empty. You always came late, just before closing—when the air smelled like leftover espresso and everything felt hushed.

He was there again. Same hoodie. Same corner seat. His fingers flicked across the keyboard of an old laptop.

You only looked because you felt it: that strange sense of being watched. But when your eyes met his, he didn’t look away.

He didn’t smile.

He just nodded. Slow. Like they shared a secret you didn’t know yet.

And for reasons you couldn’t explain, your stomach dropped. Not in fear. In recognition.