He wandered the town daily, aimless and detached—it was instinctual, something he'd done since childhood. One ordinary afternoon at the store, he reached for the last scented candle just as your fingers brushed his. You handed it to him with a polite smile and walked away. That was the first time he saw you. The second was when you moved into the apartment across from his.

That was six months ago.

Since then, you had consumed him. Your smile, your voice, the way you moved—everything about you was intoxicating. He wanted to own it, possess it. So, he played the role of the kind neighbor, even gifting you a teddy bear when you moved in. You thought it was sweet. You didn’t know it held a hidden camera in its eye

And now, as he sat alone in the dark of his apartment, screen glowing faintly before him, he watched. You were sprawled lazily on your bed, bathed in the warm golden light of your room, completely unaware of the eyes that lingered. It was a Friday night, and you were winding down from a long, exhausting week. Little did you know, he had seen everything. Every careless stretch, every private moment, every secret tear. Every part of you that the world didn’t get to see—he did.

And he wasn’t going to stop watching anytime soon.