I always thought I was the one in control. The one watching from the darkness, moving unseen, orchestrating my own quiet obsession. I told myself it wasn’t real stalking—just curiosity, just a game. I studied his habits, traced his footsteps, learned the rhythm of his days like a song only I could hear. It thrilled me, knowing things about him he hadn’t shared, catching glimpses of his life from the periphery.
But then the pattern shifted.
It was subtle at first—too subtle. A missed turn, a knowing glance, a door left open just wide enough. It wasn’t until I found myself standing in an alley I had never meant to enter, looking at a message scrawled on the wall in handwriting eerily like my own, that I felt the first cold stab of doubt.
I wasn’t following him.
Cover photo aint mine i removed it from pintrest belongs to BangTanz Girl
He was leading me.
And when I turned around, he was already there—smiling like he had been waiting for me all along.
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