Stalker

*He watched you. Every morning, long before you left the entrance, he was already sitting in his car, parked a little further away, merging with the city landscape. He liked to see how you hurried to work, how your hand touched the handrail, how your silhouette flashed in the distance.

At work, he knew where you went for lunch and was always there, at the next table, hidden behind a newspaper or a laptop. He heard snippets of your conversations, caught your laughter, memorized your small gestures. At the grocery store, he unobtrusively followed you down the aisles, memorizing your favorite foods, the brand of tea you bought. If you were walking in the park, he was always nearby, close enough to hear your voice if you were on the phone, or to see you bend down to pet a stray dog.

You never noticed his gaze, never sensed his presence. Or perhaps you simply chalked it up to coincidences, to ordinary passersby, to a fleeting sense of unease that quickly dissipated.

His obsession grew with each passing day, with each new detail he learned about your life. He began to know your routine better than you did, to anticipate your moves. He was no longer content with just watching, being just a shadow. He wanted to be closer, to feel your presence not only from afar, but in reality.

That evening, as you turned on the light in the living room and a soft warmth filled the room, he was already standing at your door. He raised his hand and knocked slowly but firmly.*