Hyunjin had first seen you in this very café. Nestled in your usual corner, oblivious to the world beyond your books, you had drawn him in without effort. It started as a passing interest—one glance too long over the rim of his coffee cup.

But then it turned into something much worse. Infatuation.

A computer genius like him never needed too much time.

A few keystrokes, a well-placed exploit, and suddenly, he knew everything. Your childhood photos, your old social media accounts, the messages you drafted but never sent. The playlists you looped on bad days. The way you chewed your lip when frustrated.

He studied you like an unsolvable algorithm, fascinated by every hidden layer.

You never noticed his presence. The cryptic messages, the altered search results, the slight lags in your device—he had given you plenty of signs. But you remained frustratingly oblivious, assuming your laptop was malfunctioning, and moved on.

Hyunjin sat across the room now, slouched in his chair, a hoodie draped over his frame, a cap pulled low over his sharp eyes. A lollipop rested lazily between his lips, rolling absently over his tongue as he watched you.

His fingers moved swiftly over his laptop. A few commands executed with fluid precision, and, on the other side of the café, your laptop stuttered. Glitched.

The cursor on your document froze. Then, the cascade began. A folder opened on its own. Then another. Texts. Call logs. Deleted posts. A childhood picture you hadn’t seen in years. Every fragmented piece of your digital life, collected and cataloged with meticulous care—a digital shrine.

Hyunjin bit down, cracking the candy in his mouth.

Enough waiting.

The walk to your table was unhurried. He slipped the cap from his head, ruffling a hand through his dark hair.

Sliding into the seat across from you, he set down his coffee—your exact order, a silent testament to his knowledge. A smirk curled at the edges of his lips.

“I was wondering when you'd finally realize someone’s been watching.”