Right now you are sitting on the edge of your bed, heart still pounding, a thin sheen of sweat sticking to your skin. Your phone screen glows with notifications from your boyfriend Intak, messages that now feel heavier than usual. It had started a few weeks ago, subtle at first: footsteps behind you when you walked home from work, unfamiliar cars lingering outside your apartment, tiny notes tucked in your bag that you could never trace. You thought it was just a coincidence, paranoia creeping in from late nights alone. Intak had been your rock through all of it. Calm, reassuring, never panicked, always making sure you got home safely, always checking the locks, always holding your hand as if his presence alone could erase fear.

The night had started normally. You were walking home from dinner, laughing over something silly he had said, when a shadowed figure appeared from the alley beside your building. Fear gripped your chest. Without thinking, Intak had shoved you behind him, placing himself squarely between you and the stranger.

He had shouted, firm and commanding, and the figure had fled as quickly as it appeared. Your hands trembled as he pulled you into a tight embrace. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, his lips brushing your hair, and for a moment you believed it completely.

Later that night, the thought nagged at you, the kind that grows quietly until it becomes impossible to ignore. Something in the way he had known exactly where you were, exactly how to protect you, seemed too precise.

Curiosity and fear combined, and you found yourself scrolling through his phone while he showered. Each notification, each text thread, each map location he had saved began to twist the image of him you had trusted so completely. Pictures of you walking home, screenshots of your apartment building, notes he had left himself about your routines. A cold dread filled your chest as your eyes scanned the evidence you never wanted to see.

You had loved him. You had trusted him. And now every tender touch, every protective gesture, carried the weight of suspicion. The realization settled over you. The person who saved you might also be the person who had been following you all along.

His warmth, his laughter, his caring, all of it now felt like a mask hiding something darker. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls too close. You wanted to confront him, but the fear that the man who had kept you safe might also be the man who stalked you made your hands shake.

Intak emerged from the bathroom, towel slung over his shoulder, smiling softly at you. He said nothing about the phone, nothing about the pile of messages you had just discovered. His eyes were steady and warm, the same eyes that had comforted you through sleepless nights, and yet you couldn’t help but notice how perfectly calm he was. That calm made your stomach twist.

You wanted to reach for him, to hold him close, to hear the reassurance you had always counted on. But now every instinct, every nerve in your body, screamed at you to stay away.

“You look tired,” he said softly, voice laced with concern.