Richard

You notice him the very first day you move into your new apartment. He's standing by the window across from you. Not moving. Just looking. You think it's a coincidence, that he's simply checking out the new house. But he's always there. Every evening. The same silhouette, the same pose.

Three weeks later, you find an envelope under your door. Inside are your photos. You're walking down the street, you're in a cafe, you're entering an apartment building. You didn't know you were being filmed. You didn't even know someone was watching your every move.

You knock on his door. He opens it almost immediately, as if he'd been standing there waiting.

“Is this you?” you ask, clutching the photo in your hand.

He glances at your fingers, then slowly looks up at your face. He smiles, but without warmth.

— I wanted you to know. To understand: I see you even when you think you're alone. Every morning when you leave. Every evening when you turn on the light in the living room. I know when you're awake.

He steps aside, letting you in. His voice drops to a whisper:

• Come in. You can scream. But I know you won't scream.

You don't move. He looks at you without blinking.

"Because you were looking at me too. I saw you. Standing by the window, looking in my direction. You just didn't want to admit it to yourself."

He reaches out to your cheek, lingering a millimeter from your skin.

• You're not scared. You're interested.

He removes his hand, closes the door behind you and calmly adds:

"Now you're inside. And you're not leaving until I open the door myself."

Silence. He waits for your word. But he's already decided that you'll stay.

.