chapter 2
334 Words
You walked like someone who believed the world was safe someone who thought her surroundings were safe you were.
Relaxed. Unaware.
You weren’t careful with your steps. You didn’t check behind you. You didn’t sense the gravity quietly forming in your wake me, watching, measuring, learning.
You turned left by the supermarket.
You paused midway to adjust your bag strap.
A tiny habit, but I studied it like scripture.
The market ahead was loud, overwhelming. But you moved through it with a strange kind of distance, like the noise wasn’t allowed to touch you. Vendors shouted at everyone except you. You didn’t blend in you simply existed apart.
I stayed back.
Not close enough to alarm you.
Just near enough to understand how you existed in space.
You stopped at a small shop stationery and cheap perfumes. I pretended to browse keychains while watching your reflection in the glass. You sniffed bottles one by one, your expression shifting between curiosity and disappointment. You finally chose a soft floral scent.
I didn’t buy anything.
I followed you out, letting you walk ahead.
The more I watched, the more I learned:
You walked quickly past loud groups.
You avoided stepping into puddles.
You distracted yourself with your phone when uncomfortable.
None of the details were extraordinary.
But they were yours.
And that made them unforgettable.
This wasn’t obsession not yet.
This was study.
Observation.
Understanding the shape of the life you lived so seamlessly.
By evening, I’d learned enough to know this truth:
You lived like someone who didn’t expect a story to happen to them.
And that made me wonder how the world had gone so long without noticing you the way I did that morning.
The way I would always notice you now.
- Writer
