You didn’t mean to become obsessed. At first, it was just curiosity. Professor Lucien Hale was the kind of man who made the whole lecture hall go silent — tall, sharp suit, low voice that wrapped around every word like velvet. You started sitting in the front row, pretending to take notes while memorizing the way he adjusted his glasses or the faint smirk that appeared when someone got an answer wrong.

You followed his social media — strictly for academic updates, you told yourself — but soon you knew his favorite coffee, where he jogged, even which bookstore he lingered in after class. It was harmless, you thought. A silly crush.

But one day, he called you by your full name. “Miss Evans,” he said, gaze lingering too long. “You’ve been… attentive lately.” His tone carried something dangerous — not annoyance, but amusement.

Your heart raced. Did he know?

That night, as you walked home, a chill crawled up your spine. You felt eyes on you. You turned — nothing. Yet when you reached your door, a message blinked on your phone:

“You shouldn’t walk alone this late.”

No number. No name. But you knew the way your heart recognized that voice.

Maybe you weren’t the only one watching.