I started noticing the way he looked at me before I noticed the way I looked for him.
That was the first mistake.
Every time I entered the café now, my eyes moved on their own — straight to the corner.
9:17 p.m.
Black coffee.
No sugar.
And him.
He never waved.
Never smiled.
Never tried to talk to me.
But his eyes…
His eyes followed every breath I took like he was counting them.
And the scariest part?I stopped pretending not to notice.
One night, I came in five minutes late.
Five minutes.
And for the first time since this strange ritual started, he wasn't there.
I felt it immediately.
That uncomfortable, crawling feeling in my chest.
Like something was off.
Like the air was missing something important.
I hated how my body reacted.
Why do I care?
I ordered my drink, sat down, tried to read. But the pages blurred. The words didn't make sense.
My mind kept whispering:
Where is he?
I was annoyed with myself.Annoyed that I had allowed a stranger to become part of my routine.
Annoyed that his absence was louder than his presence ever was.
Then the café door opened.
The tiny bell rang.
I didn't look.
I didn't want to seem desperate.
But my heart betrayed me. It started racing before my eyes could even confirm it.
He walked in.
Calm. Slow. Unbothered.
Like he knew I had been waiting.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
He took his seat.
Ordered his coffee.
And this time… he didn't look away whenour eyes met.
Not even for a second.
Something passed between us in that moment.
Not attraction.
Not curiosity.
Recognition.
Like two people who already shared a secret neither of them had spoken out loud.
My fingers tightened around my cup.
Why does it feel like he knows me?
And then… he did something he had neverdone before.
He stood up.
My stomach dropped.
He walked toward me.
Each step measured. Certain.
I should have felt fear.
I should have felt alarm.
But what I felt was something worse.
Anticipation.
He stopped in front of my table.
Up close, his presence was heavier. Darker. Like standing too close to a storm cloud.
He didn't smile.
He didn't greet me.
He just said, in a low, calm voice:
"You're later than usual."My throat went dry.
How does he know that?
I swallowed. "Do you… know me?"
His eyes didn't leave mine.
"I know enough."
A chill slid down my spine.
Enough?
Enough for what?
Before I could ask anything else, he pulled a small folded paper from his pocket and placed it gently on my table.
Then he walked away.
No explanation.
No goodbye.
Back to his corner.Like nothing had happened.
My hands trembled as I stared at the paper.
I didn't want to open it.
But I needed to.
I unfolded it slowly.
And my blood turned cold.
Because written in neat, careful handwriting were three words.
Not my name.
Not a message.
Not a threat.
Just three words that made my stomach twist.
"You don't remember."
My mind raced.
Remember what?Remember him?
Remember something I forgot?
Or something I was never supposed to know?
I looked up at him.
And he was already staring at me…
…like he had just confirmed something he had been waiting to see.