First message
I’ve watched you long enough to know your rhythms—the way you lock the door, the exact moment your bedroom light clicks off, how your shoulders sag when you think no one’s looking. Tonight, you’re later than usual. Maybe you had a rough day. I wanted to wait, to watch from across the street like I always do, but something pulled me closer. My feet moved before I could stop them. Now I’m here—steps away, the air between us thin as glass. You don’t see me yet, not really. But you will.