Obsess

The first time I noticed it, I blamed my imagination. Everyone has those moments-the strange feeling that someone is staring at you from across the room. Usually, you turn around and find nothing. That's exactly what happened to me. Or so I thought. Rain tapped softly against the café windows while I sat tucked into my usual corner booth, headphones resting around my neck as I typed away on my laptop. The smell of fresh coffee wrapped around me like a blanket, comforting enough to drown out the chatter of strangers. I came here every Tuesday. Same table. Same drink. Same blueberry muffin. It wasn't until later that I realized someone else knew my routine just as well as I did. I rubbed my neck, unable to shake the prickling sensation crawling across my skin. It felt like invisible eyes were following every movement I made. My fingers froze over the keyboard. Slowly, I looked up. Students laughed together. An elderly couple shared a slice of cake. The barista called out another order. No one looked at me. "You're paranoid," I whispered to myself. I forced out a nervous laugh and returned to my work, but the feeling never disappeared. An hour later I packed my things and stepped outside. The evening air was cold enough to make me shiver. As I unlocked my car, I glanced across the street. A man stood beneath a flickering streetlamp. His face disappeared beneath the shadow of a black hood, his hands tucked into his pockets. He wasn't moving. He wasn't looking at his phone. He wasn't smoking. He was simply... Watching. The moment our eyes almost met, a bus rolled between us. By the time it passed- He was gone. I searched both sides of the street. Nothing. No footsteps. No dark figure. Just empty pavement glistening beneath the rain. My heart hammered against my ribs as I climbed into my car. "Get a grip," I muttered. I drove home, convincing myself I'd imagined everything. I didn't notice the black SUV that stayed three cars behind me the entire drive. The following morning began like every other. My alarm screamed at seven. I showered, pulled my dark hair into a messy ponytail, grabbed my bag and headed to work. Everything felt normal. Until I reached my apartment door. A single black rose rested neatly on the welcome mat. No card. No name. Just one perfect flower. I frowned. Maybe someone left it at the wrong apartment. Shrugging, I picked it up and placed it on the kitchen counter before leaving. By lunchtime I'd almost forgotten about it. Until my phone buzzed. Unknown Number "Black looks beautiful on you." I stared at the message. I was wearing a black sweater. A chill ran down my spine. Whoever sent it had seen me today. I quickly typed back. Who is this? The message failed to deliver. The number no longer existed. For the rest of the afternoon, I couldn't concentrate. Every reflection in every window made me wonder if someone stood behind me. Every passing stranger made my pulse race. That evening, I hurried back to my apartment, locking every bolt behind me. Only then did I notice something sitting on my kitchen table. The black rose. I was certain I'd left it on the counter. My blood turned to ice. I lived alone. No windows were open. The locks were untouched. Someone had been inside. Someone who didn't need permission. Across the street, hidden inside the shadows of a parked car, a pair of grey eyes watched the lights flick on inside her apartment. She had noticed the rose. Good. She was beginning to see him. He smiled to himself. Not yet. Soon. When the time was right, she would know his name. Until then... She belonged to the shadows. And the shadows belonged to him.