The Watcher

It was raining. Heavy drops fell from the edges of the streetlamp, masking the glow like a misty veil. From the shadows of a half-destroyed brick wall, I waited, unnoticed, invisible. She always took this route home. Always.

I didn’t know her name—not yet. She was “the woman in the green scarf,” or maybe “the one with the light steps.” She floated, unaware of the world around her, her laugh echoing in my ears long after she turned a corner.

It wasn’t a laugh tonight, though. Her umbrella wobbled as the wind fought her grip, and she muttered something I couldn’t hear. Her irritation gave me pause. I liked her better serene. It made this feel less… wrong.

Wrong? Was it wrong? I wasn’t hurting her. I just wanted to see her. To understand what made her light up the way she did when she stopped at the flower stall, even when she didn’t buy anything. To find out who she called late at night.

I followed the familiar rhythm of her steps from a safe distance. Six paces behind, never more, never less.

This was the part I liked best—when she didn’t know I existed, and I could savor her in silence.

The Watched

The rain came suddenly, pelting against the glass windows of the coffee shop. I finished my drink quickly and packed up, checking my phone. Late. Too late to still feel safe walking home. But the buses were unreliable, and calling a cab felt indulgent for such a short distance.

I stepped outside, wrapping my scarf tightly around my neck. The street glistened with rain, the streetlights casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. It felt different tonight. Heavier. Like the air was holding its breath.

Maybe it was just the rain.

I kept my head down, counting my steps. I always did that when I was nervous—counting, as though numbers could keep me safe. My umbrella wavered against the wind, and I cursed under my breath.

Then I felt it.

No sound, no sight, just… presence. A heaviness behind me, so faint it might have been my imagination. But it wasn’t.

I’ve felt it before. That pull, that faint awareness that someone is watching. It prickled at the back of my neck.

Was it the same as before? Or was my paranoia catching up to me?

I glanced behind me, quick and subtle, trying not to make it obvious. The street was empty except for the rain and the occasional car. Yet, there was something—an echo of footsteps maybe?

I clutched my umbrella tighter and quickened my pace.

The Watcher

She noticed me.

I saw it in the way she stiffened, her head dipping lower, her steps more hurried. She knew. I’d been careful, but something had betrayed me—a shuffle too loud, a shadow falling at the wrong time.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last. The trick was not to panic. She couldn’t see me—not really. If I stayed calm, she’d convince herself it was her imagination.

But tonight felt… different. Her fear was sharper, and it wasn’t fear I liked. Fear shattered the illusion, turned her into prey instead of the ethereal being I wanted to admire.

I slowed my steps, letting the distance grow. She shouldn’t feel me this close, not yet.

The Watched

I turned the corner and stopped. My heart was pounding, my breath shallow. The street ahead was quiet—too quiet. Normally, I’d pass people coming out of the bar on the corner or the late-night laundromat. But tonight, nothing.

Behind me, the faintest scuff of a shoe against pavement.

I wasn’t imagining it. I wasn’t.

I spun around, my umbrella dripping water in every direction. Nothing. No one. Just shadows and rain and the empty echoes of my pulse in my ears.

“Hello?” I called, hating the way my voice cracked.

No answer.

I should keep moving. Standing still felt like an invitation. But my legs wouldn’t listen.

The Watcher

She stopped.

Her voice was soft but sharp enough to slice through the rain. I stayed still, held my breath, waiting for her to move. I wanted her to walk on. To go back to being the unknowable figure gliding through the night.

But she didn’t. She stood there, her umbrella tilted just enough to hide her face. I hated that. I wanted to see her. To remember why I had followed her in the first place.

My hands clenched. I stepped back into the deepest shadow, waiting.

The Watched

I couldn’t stay here. I started walking again, faster this time. My hand hovered over my phone in my pocket, but I didn’t pull it out. Who would I even call? The police? And tell them what? That I felt like I was being followed by a ghost?

The sound of footsteps grew louder, faster. I knew it wasn’t my imagination anymore.

I ran.

The Watcher

She ran.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

For the first time, I hesitated. What if she told someone? What if she turned around and saw me, really saw me? What would I even say?

But I couldn’t let her leave. Not yet. Not like this.

I ran after her.