4

I stood up and walked to the window again, staring out into the night.

The city seemed quiet, almost too quiet.

And even though I couldn’t see him, I knew he was out there.

Somewhere.

Watching.

10

MARIANA

The next day, the feeling of being watched still clung to me like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

Even at the bookshop, where I normally felt safe, I found myself glancing over my shoulder constantly, waiting for something to happen.

Or someone to appear.

It was ridiculous.

He was just a man, a customer who had wandered into the shop.

But his presence had stuck with me, like a stain I couldn’t scrub away.

I tried to focus on my work, stacking books and arranging the new arrivals, but my mind kept drifting.

Every time the bell above the door rang, my heart jumped, half-expecting to see him standing there again.

Dark eyes.

Quiet presence.

That unsettling calmness that seemed to swallow up the room.

But the hours passed, and he didn’t come.

By the time evening rolled around, I’d convinced myself it was all in my head.

I was making this into something bigger than it was.

I was safe.

The city was full of strangers.

People passed through my shop every day.

He was no different.

I started closing up, pulling down the shutters and locking the front door.

The street outside was starting to empty, the busy traffic of the day replaced by the quiet hum of nighttime.

I felt calmer, more in control, as if leaving the shop would finally let me leave the strange encounter behind.

Then I saw him.

He was standing across the street, leaning casually against a lamppost, watching me.

The calmness I’d built up vanished in an instant, replaced by the sharp edge of fear.

I froze, my hand still on the key in the lock, my breath catching in my throat.

What was he doing here?

Why was he waiting?

I wanted to believe it was just a coincidence, that he had just happened to be in the neighborhood again.

But deep down, I knew better.

He was here for me.

11

AMIR

I watched her from across the street, just as I had the day before.

Her little bookshop stood out in the dim light, like a beacon of innocence in the middle of the city.

She was inside, moving through her routine, locking up the place for the night.

I could see the way she moved—cautious, hesitant.

She’d felt me watching.

She knew.

Good.

I wasn’t the kind of man who waited for things to come to me.

But with her, I needed patience.

I couldn’t rush this.

She had to come to me on her own.

The fear she felt now would only draw her closer, make her see that she needed me to protect her from whatever it was that haunted her.

Even if I was the one haunting her.

I stood still, waiting for her to notice me.

It didn’t take long.

Her eyes flickered toward me, wide and startled, her body freezing in place.

She knew I was here for her.

I could see the fear in the way she gripped the key, her knuckles turning white.

But she didn’t run.

Not yet.

I pushed off the lamppost and started walking across the street, my steps slow and deliberate.

Her eyes followed me, watching every move I made, her fear growing with each step I took.

“Good evening,” I said as I reached the sidewalk in front of her shop, my voice low and calm.

She didn’t say anything at first, just stared at me with those wide, uncertain eyes.

I liked the way she looked at me—like she didn’t know if she should be afraid or curious.

That hesitation, that uncertainty—it made her even more interesting.

12

MARIANA

He was standing right in front of me now, his tall frame casting a shadow over the sidewalk.

I felt trapped between him and the locked door behind me.

My heart was racing, my mind screaming at me to move, to say something, to do anything to break the heavy silence between us.

But I couldn’t.

I was too scared to speak, too scared to run.