Aria
The water from the shower cascaded down my body, each drop a small comfort against my skin. I tilted my head back, letting the warm stream wash over my face, hoping it would clear my mind. Max was making dinner tonight—his famous pasta with the sauce his grandmother taught him to make. I should have been excited. Any other day, I would've been.
But these last few days, something felt off.
It wasn't just paranoia. Every time Max went out of town, that creeping sensation returned—the feeling of being watched, followed.
I shut off the water and wrapped a towel around myself, my skin prickling with goosebumps despite the steam filling the bathroom. As I padded across our bedroom, I glanced at the framed sketch Max had done of me sleeping. He'd caught me in a rare peaceful moment, free
