The Perfect Stalker

For years, Kael Voss had lived in the shadows. Years of observing from afar. Years of collecting pieces of his life: a lock of red hair left on a bench, a photo stolen from a distance, the sound of his laughter recorded in his memory like a sickly sweet melody. He knew where he lived, what time he left, who he spoke to, what he threw away. He knew everything. And the more he knew, the deeper he sank. It was no longer just attraction. It was a consuming obsession. A quiet, silent madness that kept him awake at night staring at the photos taped to his bedroom wall. A wall dedicated exclusively to him. Ilya. The red-haired boy who lit up every room just by appearing. The one who smiled at everyone as if the world belonged to him. The one who had never really noticed Kael... until now. Today, after so many years of silent stalking, Kael finally gathered the courage. He stood in front of the café where Ilya usually went with his friends. His heart pounded with uncontrollable force, his hands sweating inside his pockets. In his mind, he repeated the same words over and over like a sick mantra: This is it. This time I talk to him. This time I start making him mine. He took a deep breath, ran a hand through his black hair, and began to walk toward the table where Ilya was sitting, laughing with his usual group. His eyes, dark and feverish, did not leave him for a second. It was time.