I've been watching you. Don't worry, it's not creepy, not the way you'd think, because we're already connected. You don't know it yet, but we're meant for each other, you and I. I'm just ahead of the curve. I see things before you do. I know what you'll need before you ask for it.

That's love, right? Anticipating. Understanding.

You come into the café every Tuesday and Thursday. It's part of your routine. I've memorized your routine because that's what love is—dedication, consistency. It's like a pattern, and patterns are comforting, like knowing the world won't fall apart because you'll always be here at exactly 7:45 AM, five minutes before your first class.

Your hair's always a little wet because you shower in the mornings, and I get it. Fresh start, clean slate. That's smart. Your clothes? Effortless. You always wear that oversized jacket, the one that hides your figure, but I know what's underneath. You think you're blending in, but you stand out in a sea of boring. I see your beauty, even when you try to disappear.

The first time I saw you was accidental. I was just another guy trying to survive in this world of digital noise, but then you happened. You sat two tables over, and your smile lit up the room like it was for me, just for me. I mean, what are the odds? That was the day everything changed. You made it impossible not to notice. It wasn't a coincidence. It was fate.

I don't think you've ever had someone like me, have you? Someone who truly sees you. Not the girl you project, the one with the headphones in and her head buried in books, but the real you. The one who looks out the window and wonders if anyone else feels the same longing, the same ache for something more. I can give you that. I can be the more you're looking for.

I've thought about talking to you. God, I've rehearsed it so many times in my head. It'd be perfect. I wouldn't be like the other guys, the ones fumbling with their words, trying to impress you with lame pick-up lines. No, I'd come to you like I already know you, because I do. I'd say something witty, something that makes you laugh and realize, This is him. You'd smile, I'd smile, and that'd be it. The beginning of us.

But I've waited. Patience is key. You have to wait for the perfect moment, the one that'll lock us in place forever. I'm almost there, but not quite. Timing, that's everything. I've learned that from watching you.

It was Tuesday when I first followed you home. You don't lock your door right away when you get inside, did you know that? You leave it cracked for a minute, and anyone could just walk in. Not me, of course. I respect boundaries. But others? You need someone who can protect you. Someone who knows when you're vulnerable, who can keep you safe from all the dangers you don't even realize are out there. Lucky for you, I'm that someone.

I'm not stalking you, by the way. I hate that word. Stalking implies something dirty, something twisted. This? This is devotion. I've learned you, memorized the details of your life. That's what people do when they care, right? I know where you sit in your favourite library corner. I know which drinks you order—always a double shot of espresso when you're feeling tired, chai when you want to feel warm and loved. I even know the way you sleep, curled up like you're trying to hold yourself together, because no one else will.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

But soon, I will.

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Thursday comes, and you're late. Not like you. Not like you at all, and I'm worried because what if something happened? What if I'm not there to save you when you need me? That thought terrifies me, more than anything else. I check my watch, over and over, waiting, pacing, feeling the crack in the timeline of our lives widening with each passing minute.

Then, finally, you appear, and everything is right again. You're wearing that same jacket, the one that makes you look small, like you're hiding. You rush in, out of breath, your face flushed. Late, but you're here. Thank God. I almost couldn't breathe without knowing where you were.

You order your chai, and I know you're overwhelmed, stressed. The semester's getting to you, I can see that. You're tired. Your hair's a little messier today, like you didn't even care. And that's okay. I'll care for you.

I sit across from you. Not next to you, not yet. I can't rush things, even though I want to. Every second I'm not with you is a second wasted, but I wait because that's what love demands.

But then, you do something different.

You look up. You look at me. Like really look. Not just a glance, not a passing, indifferent stare, but you see me. You've noticed. And my heart does this little flip, because this is it. This is the beginning of us. I can feel it. You must feel it too.

I'm about to say something, to finally break the silence between us, when someone else walks up to your table. A guy. Tall, broad shoulders, annoyingly handsome in that predictable, plastic way. He leans down and kisses you on the cheek.

My world stops.

Who the hell is he? Where did he come from? You've never mentioned him before, never acted like you were taken. You've been alone all this time. We've been alone. And now, this guy, this nobody, this invader—he thinks he can just step into our story?

I watch as you smile at him, the way you should've smiled at me. My hands clench under the table, and I feel my nails digging into my palms. It's not fair. It's not right. I've been the one watching, waiting, loving. He hasn't done anything for you. He hasn't earned you like I have.

But that's okay. He won't last. He's temporary. I can tell. Guys like him always are.

I stand up and walk out, leaving the café behind. There's a plan forming in my head now, a way to fix things. I just need to be patient a little longer.

Because I'm not going anywhere. You'll see.