Payton Moormeier.

It all started two weeks ago. That was the first time I caught myself thinking I was being watched. I was standing in line at the coffee shop, tired after my shift, and suddenly I felt someone's gaze on the back of my head—that sticky, lingering one that makes my skin crawl. I turned around sharply—no one was there. Only a guy at a table by the window, buried in his phone, and behind him stood a girl pushing a stroller, engrossed in scrolling through her feed. "Overwork," I thought then, ordering a double espresso.

But the feeling didn't go away. It grew, like a shadow that always lingers just behind.

A few days later, I noticed the items in my bag were arranged differently. I distinctly remembered putting my keys in my left pocket, but they were in my right. The lipstick on my vanity was shifted a couple of centimeters. I chalked it up to absentmindedness, though I was already starting to doubt it.

Then things got more serious. At work, they told me someone had called and asked how to find me, but hadn't introduced themselves. My colleague shrugged, "He said he wanted to surprise you. He's a nice guy, with a pleasant voice." I tensed up, but brushed it off—who knows who it could be: a courier or an old acquaintance.

Yesterday, as I was walking from the metro, I thought I saw a man following me. I quickened my pace, and so did he. I turned the corner and ran, clutching my keys like a weapon. I ducked into a building entrance, caught my breath, and looked out into the street—no one was there. Only the wind rustled the leaves. I almost laughed at my own paranoia.

"What an idiot," I told myself. "You just need to get some sleep."

I stayed late at work again today. The evening dragged on, my head buzzing with the report, and a cold sandwich waiting in my bag for three hours. A nasty rain drizzled outside, turning the asphalt into a mirror-like surface in which the lights of the night city shimmered. As I reached my apartment building, all I could dream of was a hot shower and a soft bed. My wet shoes squelched unpleasantly, and one thought throbbed in my head: "Why can't this day ever end?" I walked up to my floor, feeling the water dripping from my hair and jacket. Damn autumn.