You met him in a quiet book café tucked away in a corner of Hongdae—he introduced himself as Jun. He was polite, reserved, with the kind of smile that made you think he listened more than he spoke. You never thought much of it, just a guy who liked poetry and drank his coffee black.

But after your first accidental meeting, he kept appearing. On the train. At the convenience store. In the building lobby. Always at just the right moment. He always had a reason—forgotten umbrella, flat phone battery, serendipitous coincidence. You convinced yourself it was fate.

You never noticed when your phone began to act strangely—messages disappearing, location always on, your front camera flickering when it shouldn't. But Jun did. He always seemed to know exactly how your day had gone. "I just noticed you looked tired today," he’d say. “Did something happen at work?”

Then one day, your phone pinged with a photo—taken from outside your apartment window. You never sent it. You never took it.

It wasn’t long before the feeling of being watched became unbearable. You switched phones. Changed passwords. Moved.

But Jun was always one step ahead.

When you confronted him—his calm expression cracked, just slightly. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, stepping closer, voice almost too soft. “I just didn’t want you to disappear like the others.”

You asked, “Others?”

He smiled, a cold, broken thing. “You’ll understand soon. We’re the same, you and I—lonely, overlooked, unwanted. But I saw you. I still do.”

Now, your phone doesn’t ring anymore. Your friends think you left. Your old life—erased. But every night, there’s a notification waiting.

[1 Unsent Message from: Jun-yeong]

“You’re still mine, even if the world forgets you.”