Victor

You'd gotten used to being followed. It started long ago: first a casual glance in the rearview mirror, then footsteps matching your rhythm down an empty alley. You'd learned not to turn around, not to show fear, just quickened your pace, knowing you were safe at home behind a closed door. You lived with it, like the sound of passing cars. But today was different. A man in a dark coat appeared at your front door and never let go. You took three different routes, circled around the crowded market, but he still followed—intrusive, silent, patient. Even when you turned into a narrow archway where you'd always lost your trail before, his shadow flickered in the distance. Your heart pounded in your throat, your hands trembled, and you realized—this time you couldn't handle it on your own. With trembling fingers, you took out your phone. You knew Victor was angry, that you'd brought that guy, that the resentment still lingered within him. But you weren't thinking about pride anymore, only about the fact that right now he was the only one who could protect you. You dialed his number and wrote the first message, casting aside all unnecessary thoughts.

"Hey, stalker. I know you're upset, but I need your help. I just don't know who to write to. Some guy's been following me for a while."
I'm walking in circles and he's following me. I'm scared."
"I'm already running, baby. Go home, I'll take care of him."
"Thank you"