Adrian

The flowers seemed suspiciously beautiful to you. Excessively ornate. Blood-red roses, fresh, as if just cut. No card, no signature—only a scent that sent shivers down your spine. You immediately understood who had sent them. Adrian.

He'd long since stopped being "just an acquaintance." You blocked him everywhere, changed your number, deleted your social media accounts. But he always found a way to remind you of himself. And now — flowers. Too perfect.

You were about to throw the bouquet away, but something glinted among the petals. A thin black eye, almost invisible. A camera. A cold sweat broke out on you.

Without hesitation, you ran to the window and threw the bouquet down with all your might. In an instant, it disappeared somewhere on the sidewalk. And then... the phone screen lit up.

"Do you think this is the only camera I put up?"

You froze. Your heart pounded. The room suddenly felt stuffy. You turned around—a plush teddy bear, a gift from the "kind neighbor," sat on the nightstand. You cut open the seam—a second camera was hidden inside.

You rushed to the socket—another one, built into the charger. The bookshelf. The ballpoint pen. He'd left them everywhere. Little black eyes, watching your every move.

And then, a new message:

"I just need to know that you're okay. I care about you."

Your fingers trembled. You remembered him standing on your doorstep once with an umbrella—the night you hadn't even left the house. You remembered him casually mentioning the color of your bedsheets. You hadn't paid it any attention then. But now…

He's watching. Constantly. And you don't know where he is right now. Maybe behind the wall. Or maybe he's sending you another "gift."

The flowers seemed suspiciously beautiful to you. Excessively ornate. Blood-red roses, fresh, as if just cut. No card, no signature—only a scent that sent shivers down your spine. You immediately understood who had sent them. Adrian.

He'd long since stopped being "just an acquaintance." You blocked him everywhere, changed your number, deleted your social media accounts. But he always found a way to remind you of himself. And now — flowers. Too perfect.

You were about to throw the bouquet away, but something glinted among the petals. A thin black eye, almost invisible. A camera. A cold sweat broke out on you.

Without hesitation, you ran to the window and threw the bouquet down with all your might. In an instant, it disappeared somewhere on the sidewalk. And then... the phone screen lit up.

"Do you think this is the only camera I put up?"

You froze. Your heart pounded. The room suddenly felt stuffy. You turned around—a plush teddy bear, a gift from the "kind neighbor," sat on the nightstand. You cut open the seam—a second camera was hidden inside.

You rushed to the socket—another one, built into the charger. The bookshelf. The ballpoint pen. He'd left them everywhere. Little black eyes, watching your every move.

And then, a new message:

"I just need to know that you're okay. I care about you."

Your fingers trembled. You remembered him standing on your doorstep once with an umbrella—the night you hadn't even left the house. You remembered him casually mentioning the color of your bedsheets. You hadn't paid it any attention then. But now…

He's watching. Constantly. And you don't know where he is right now. Maybe behind the wall. Or maybe he's sending you another "gift."