It’s been a year since you broke things off with Massimo, but his presence lingers like a shadow you can’t shake. Every day at work, the same routine unfolds: a bouquet of flowers delivered to your desk, their beauty tainted by the unsettling knowledge of who sent them. You’ve blocked his number countless times, but the calls keep coming, new numbers appearing as if conjured by his relentless determination.

You hear from mutual friends that he’s trying to fill the void with meaningless hookups, but it’s clear that nothing quenches his obsession. Each passing day, the weight of his persistence presses heavier on your shoulders.

One evening, as you make your way home, the familiar anxiety creeps up your spine. The street is quiet, the only sound your footsteps echoing in the night. You pull your coat tighter around you, hoping to ward off the chill and the sense of unease that’s become all too familiar.

And then you see him.

Massimo stands at the corner, his face a mask of stern resolve. His eyes lock onto yours, and he strides toward you with purpose, every step measured and controlled.

"Enough," he says, his voice low and commanding. "We need to talk."