You were halfway through your homework, headphones on, trying to finish before your favorite show started. The first notification buzzed on your phone—unknown number. You ignored it. Probably spam. You had one page left. Another ping. Then another. Five in total.

You finally glanced at your screen, more annoyed than curious—until your breath caught in your throat.

They were pictures. Of you. Candid. Recent. Today. One of you at the crosswalk. One in the school hallway. One where you were laughing with your friends. You hadn’t posted any of these. No one could’ve taken them unless they were right there.

Then came the texts:

“You can ask for flowers—I’ve already memorized your favorites. I sit for hours, tracing the path you walk from school, from work… from dreams you think no one else hears. I told the bluebirds and the shadows too—about the way you smile when no one’s looking.”

Your stomach turned.

“Pretty little baby, I’m so in love with you… it hurts. But I like the pain.”

“You dropped your key last Thursday. Don’t worry—I put it back before you noticed. I just wanted to hold a piece of you.”

You stared at the screen, fingers frozen mid-type.

“Say hi, or I might have to leave a love letter in your cereal box tomorrow. Or maybe under your pillow. Haven’t decided yet.”

Another photo appeared. Taken through your window.

Your heart’s racing, your hands are shaking—and your phone buzzes again. This time, just one line: “Look behind you.”