The Watcher

You first noticed him in the background—always just out of focus. On the train, a few seats away. At the café, a table behind you. Passing by your building at odd hours. He never spoke. Never got too close. But his eyes—always watching. Then came the notes. Slipped into your bag, left on your doorstep. Simple words: You’re beautiful. I think about you. Do you ever notice me? At first, you ignored them. Then you locked your doors twice. Then you started looking over your shoulder. But no matter how fast you walked, how many times you changed your route, the feeling never left. The weight of unseen eyes pressing against you. Tonight, as you step into your apartment, a chill runs through you. On the counter, where there should be nothing, a single note rests. “I liked your hair today.” You don’t remember leaving your door unlocked.