For as long as Tarun could remember, he had never been held as anything significant to anyone else. Love had always been an unreciprocated sorcery, a promise of fruitless pining for the warmth he knew his soul couldn't attract from another.

He believed his core was tainted by a dark essence that everybody could see but himself, scaring them off as if he were some bloody beast. He had no choice but to let them run.

Tarun's days grew more monotonous than the last, his daily voyages seeming more like a repeated simulation than a "life". The coffee shop he discovered months ago appeared bored of his presence, its usual glow of welcoming radiance dimming to gray. So did the store he frequented—and the park he mindlessly strolled in.

His life had never been vibrant, yet the fading of colour vexed him.

That was until he noticed an unusual and new presence shift into his schedule. They had caught his eye at the store, rounding the aisle until they were face to face. A little peck of rosy pink painted their cheeks—colour. They scurried off.

No big deal.

But then Tarun saw them again. And again—in the coffee shop, the store, the park—everywhere. He grew suspicious.

He was being stalked, unless this was fate mocking him, sending him "the one" with the twist that they were much too far from his reach. Tarun preferred the former. A stalker seemed easier to deal with than a heartbreak did.

His eyes remained peeled as he trudged from the coffee shop, a cup of his typical drink in his hand. He could feel the stranger nearby, how they attempted to appear busy, keeping up the "coincidental" facade.

With a slight scoff and a sneer of his lips, he strayed from his usual path, entering a library. A sudden change in his routine.

A few moments of lazily browsing the shelves led him to make a turn, walking straight into them. A gasp parted their lips as an innocent look twinkled in their eyes, but before they could even apologize, Tristan interrupted.

"Is it fun being a creepy ass stalker?"