Stalked My Stalker

prologue

The first time I saw him, it was an accident. The second time, it wasn’t.

I was sitting at my usual café, the one with the fogged-up windows and dim lighting, sipping my coffee and watching the city move past me. The rain had just started, misting the pavement in a slick sheen, and the streetlamps buzzed with static light. That’s when I noticed him—tall, effortlessly elegant, moving through the crowd like he didn’t belong to it.

Something about him caught my attention, though I couldn’t place what. Maybe it was the way he walked—too deliberate, too smooth, as if the world around him barely existed. Maybe it was the fact that, despite the cold, he had his coat draped over one shoulder, unaffected by the wind that sent everyone else huddling into themselves.

I don’t remember deciding to follow him. It just happened.

At first, it was nothing more than curiosity. I trailed behind at a safe distance, watching as he weaved through the streets, never once hesitating at a turn, never stopping to check his phone or look around like everyone else did. He moved as if he knew exactly where he was going, as if the entire city had already laid itself out before him.

I told myself it was just for fun. A game. I wasn’t obsessed.

But then it became a habit.

Each night, I found myself looking for him, waiting for him to appear. And he always did. A glimpse of his dark coat on the other side of the street, the flicker of his silhouette disappearing down an alley, the briefest reflection in a shop window. The more I followed, the more I began to learn.

He liked his coffee black, no sugar. Always took the seat near the back of a café, where his back was to the wall, eyes on the entrance. He never used his phone in public. Never took the same route twice.

The thrill of watching him, of knowing him without him knowing me, was intoxicating.

Until one night, everything changed.

It started with something small. I had been following him for about fifteen minutes, keeping my usual careful pace, when he suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. No warning, no hesitation. He just froze.

I barely managed to duck behind a parked car before he turned his head slightly, as if listening for something. The seconds stretched out, long and unbearable, before he finally continued walking.

For the first time, I felt something close to fear.

Had he noticed me? No. That wasn’t possible. I was careful, always careful. I never got too close, never did anything to give myself away.

But then, over the next few days, the signs began to pile up.

The way he would sometimes glance over his shoulder, just for a second, as if looking for someone. The way he changed directions more frequently, taking unpredictable turns that forced me to scramble to keep up.

And then, one night, he vanished.

I was watching from across the street, waiting for him to exit a small bookstore. The rain had started again, drizzling softly against my coat, and my breath fogged in the cold air. I glanced away for only a second—just long enough to check my watch.

When I looked back, he was gone.

Panic surged through me.

I moved quickly, crossing the street, scanning the empty sidewalk. He couldn’t have gone far. He had been right there.

I turned into an alley, my footsteps loud against the wet pavement. My heartbeat quickened. The further I walked, the more the silence pressed in around me. Something wasn’t right.

Then I saw it.

A message scrawled in red ink on the brick wall ahead.

You’re not very good at this.

The cold rush of adrenaline in my veins was immediate, sharp. I took a step back, my breath catching.

And then—

A voice, smooth and low, right behind me.

"I was wondering how long you'd keep this up."

I spun around, pulse hammering.

He was standing there, just a few feet away, his dark eyes watching me with quiet amusement. He looked impossibly calm, hands in the pockets of his coat, his posture completely at ease.

"You—" My throat was dry. "How long—?"

He tilted his head slightly. "Since the beginning."

My stomach dropped.

He had known. The entire time, he had known.

The realization sent a wave of something sharp and electric through me. This wasn’t a game anymore. It had never been.

He took a slow step forward, and I found myself frozen in place, unable to move, unable to think.

"Now," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "tell me something."

I swallowed hard. "What?"

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

"Why did you follow me?"

I didn’t have an answer.

Or maybe, I was too afraid to say it out loud.