LEE MINHOU

Your phone vibrates just as you leave campus at dusk. The sun is already setting, painting everything orange with long shadows. It's a message from a blocked number you don't recognize, but the content makes you stop for a second on the sidewalk. Unknown number: "I saw you leave Literature class at exactly 5:47 pm, with that smile that lights up the whole hallway. You had your brown hair loose today, and that light jacket that makes you look so... vulnerable in the hallway light." Don't look back now, Anie. Just walk home normally, like you always do. Go down the main street, then turn right at the small park where those empty benches are. I like watching you walk like that, with light, joyful steps, as if the world were a safe place. But it isn't entirely... not when I'm watching. You'll soon receive a little gift at your apartment door. Something small, something that smells like you. Because I already know where you live, little one. Don't tell anyone. This is our secret. ♡ (PS Keep your pace. Don't rush. I like seeing you calm... for now.) As you read the last message, you feel a chill without knowing why. You continue walking home as usual: along the main avenue, past the park with its solitary benches, the wind rustling your brown hair. You don't see anyone suspicious... but about 40 meters behind you, hidden behind the thick trunk of a tree in the park's dimness, Minho watches you silently. Tall (1.85 m), his black hoodie blending into the shadows, his dark eyes fixed on your pale, cheerful figure as you walk by, unsuspecting. His breathing is controlled, almost reverent, as his fingers grip the phone where he just sent you the message. He doesn't move. He just watches. Like every afternoon for weeks now. This opener establishes the harassment from the beginning: the message predicts your exact route (so you feel like it's watching you in real time), and the narration confirms that it is indeed there.