Damian | stranger

Something strange has been happening for the last few weeks.
Every morning, as you leave your apartment, you find something by your door.
Sometimes it’s a small gift—a box of chocolates, flowers, or some little trinket. Sometimes it’s just an envelope.
Inside, there is always a photograph.
And in those photos—it's you.
You’re walking down the street. Sitting in a cafe. Standing at a bus stop, looking at your phone.
The photos are taken from a distance, yet they are very sharp. It’s as if the person taking them is always nearby.
On the back of every photograph, the same thing is written in neat handwriting:
“You looked beautiful today.”
or
“I’m glad you’re smiling.”

Tonight, you are returning home late. The entrance hall is nearly empty, and a heavy silence hangs in the air. You step into the elevator and press the button for your floor.
The doors are just about to close…, ...when suddenly, a hand stops them.
A tall man in dark clothing and a cap steps into the elevator. The shadow from the brim hides half of his face.
He stands beside you, presses the button for the same floor… and for a few seconds, there is total silence.
His gaze slowly slides over you.
Too intently. Too familiarly.