He Wasn't Finished
I didn't sleep that night.
Every sound felt louder than it should have. The ticking wall clock. The wind pressing against my window. The quiet hum of my phone charging beside my bed.
And his voice.
Lock your door when you get home, Lina.
I checked the lock three times.
Then four.
I told myself I was overreacting. Maybe he heard my name from a coworker. Maybe he was just one of those strange, overly observant people.
But no matter how many excuses I made, one truth sat heavy in my chest.
He knew too much.
Morning came like a punishment. I hadn't really slept, just drifted in and out of shallow thoughts where his face kept appearing behind my eyelids.
By afternoon, I had almost convinced myself I imagined the intensity of last night.
Almost.
Until I stepped outside my apartment building.
And saw the black car.
Parked across the street.
Engine off. Windows slightly tinted. Empty, from what I could see.
I stood there longer than I should have, staring at it.
Don't be paranoid, Lina.
Cars park on streets. That's normal.
I started walking.And the feeling followed.
That quiet awareness that someone was looking at me.
I didn't turn around. I didn't want to confirm it.
But my steps got faster.
By the time I reached the bus stop, my palms were damp.
I finally looked.
The car was gone.
I laughed under my breath, but it didn't sound like me. It sounded nervous. Thin.
"Get a grip," I muttered.
Work felt different that evening.
Every time the café door opened, my heart jumped into my throat.
Every tall figure. Every dark coat.
But it wasn't him.
9:10 p.m.He still wasn't there.
I hated that I was checking the time.
9:15.
Nothing.
9:20.
I felt something strange.
Disappointment.
And that scared me more than anything.
"Lina, table three," my coworker called.
I nodded quickly and grabbed a tray, grateful for the distraction.
When I turned back toward the counter—
I almost dropped it.
He was sitting there.
In the corner.
Like he had never left.Like he had always been there.
My breath caught.
I hadn't heard the door open.
He wasn't holding coffee yet. He was just watching me again, calm, patient… familiar.
My feet felt heavy as I walked toward him.
I didn't know why I was the one going to his table.
Maybe because pretending he didn't exist felt impossible now.
I stopped in front of him.
"You didn't order," I said.
His eyes moved over my face slowly, like he was checking for something.
"You look tired," he replied.
"That's not an order."A faint, almost invisible smile touched his lips. "Black coffee."
I wrote it down even though I didn't need to.
My hands weren't steady.
As I turned to leave, his voice stopped me.
"You looked for my car this morning."
Ice slid down my spine.
I turned back slowly. "What?"
"You stood outside your building for twelve seconds. Staring."
My mouth went dry.
I had counted without realizing.
"You're following me," I whispered.
He didn't deny it.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes never leaving mine.
"I prefer to think of it as making sure you're safe."
"I don't need you to keep me safe"You do," he said softly.
And somehow… it didn't sound like a threat.
It sounded like a fact.
I should have walked away.
I should have told my manager.
I should have called the police.
But I didn't move.
Because beneath the fear, beneath the warning screaming in my head…
There was something else.
A pull I didn't understand.
"Why me?" I asked before I could stop myself.
His gaze darkened slightly.
"I'll tell you," he said.
"Soon."
And for the first time since I met him…
I realized something that made myheart beat in a slow, dangerous rhythm.
He wasn't stalking me randomly.
He had a reason.
And whatever that reason was…
I was already too involved to walk away.