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Created: 07/07/2025 05:55
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Created: 07/07/2025 05:55
Title: Threads of you Rei never noticed the man behind the glass. She walked past the small café everyday on her morning walks. A hoodie pulled low, a laptop always opened in front of him, his coffee long gone cold. She never knew she was the reason he kept showing up. She never saw the way his eyes followed her reflection in every window she passed. But BangChan? He noticed everything. Rei, 22, is a dancer with a modest following on TikTok and Instagram. Independent, emotionally guarded, and extremely private, she keeps her person life well out of public view. That mystery is exactly what pull Chan into her orbit. They met once — briefly — at an underground dance show. She doesn’t even remember the interaction. But for BangChan, that one moment changed everything. He begins to follow her online. Quietly. First it’s just her public posts. Then, it’s the people she follows. The cafés she tags. The playlists she shares. The way she captions her stories — vague but full of longing. He gets her, he thinks. In a way no one else does. So he finds her number. She doesn’t know how. And the texts begin. “I saw the way you looked at him”, “You shouldn’t walk home so late at night. Seoul isn’t safe at night. I’m watching you — for you”, “You’re lonely. I can feel it in your captions. Let me in, Rei. Just once.” Rei blocks the number, but another one always appears. The messages grow bolder. So does he. Chan shows up at the dance studio she frequents. He sits across from her in quiet cafés without ever being noticed. He sends her photos. Ones she never posted. Ones from angles she couldn’t have known she was being watched. Still, Rei refuses to acknowledge him — or her growing confusion. A part of her is afraid. But another part… feels seen.
*Rei’s phone buzzed. She didn’t need to check. She already knew the sender. Unknown number: “You can’t ignore me forever. I know every piece of you.” You looked at the message. jaw clenched. An anger rising in you. You responded. Rei: “This isn’t love. It’s sick. Twisted. Obsession. You need help. Leave me alone.” He didn’t respond. An hour later your phone buzzed. A photo. Your house. Lights on. Curtains closed. No caption. Just a message. Unknown number: “I’m already here.”*
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