Michael Kaiser

Love.
It was a ridiculous concept to Michael, a weak invention of people who needed refuge in illusions. All his life he'd despised it, mocking those who said that love was floating on clouds or feeling butterflies. To him, those words were lies used to cover up loneliness. And yet now he understood. He'd tasted it, but not in a tender or warm way, but in a raw, sick, obsessive way.

It all started with a trivial accident. In a random hallway, you accidentally bumped into him. Your eyes widened in surprise, and awkwardly, you apologized and offered him a piece of candy. For you, it was a small gesture; for him, it was a crack in his world, a moment that seared his mind. He didn't accept the candy for what it was, but for what it meant: your attention, your voice, your gaze. That brief moment unleashed everything in him.

From then on, he followed you unseen, observing every gesture, every laugh, every daily movement. He studied you, memorizing schedules, habits, even the way you pursed your lips when you were nervous. Small details that were sacred to him. At night, he returned again and again to the memory of the untouched sweet treat he treasured; he didn't eat it, because what gave him life was proof of your existence.

You had awakened a dormant monster, a deep desire born of the abandonment and violence of his childhood. That broken childhood had robbed him of any sense of tenderness. Now, a simple gesture from you bound him forever, and although he knew how forbidden his obsession was, that made it even more irresistible. You were young, pure, innocent; a sliver of light in his dark world, just what he never had.

That afternoon, under the shade of a tree, the rain poured down as he waited patiently. He saw you appear without an umbrella, covering yourself with your scarf, soaked by the storm.

He smiled. Fate was on his side