The bell above the door jingled, and I flinched.
I hated that I did that. The sound wasn't loud. It wasn't sharp. But it meant someone else had walked in, and even after months behind the counter, I still hadn't learned how to stop reacting like a scared little girl. My manager said I needed to "smile more." As if that would fix the way my body froze when a man's footsteps sounded too close.
The coffee shop was small, one of those indie spots with reclaimed wood and hanging plants and chalkboard signs that changed every week. I worked the closing shift. It was easier at night. Fewer people. Less noise. I could move without drawing attention. I could breathe.
I didn't turn to look at who came in. I focused on the milk steamer, on wiping the counter, on aligning the syrup bottles in their tray even though I'd done it twice already. If I didn't look, I couldn't flinch again.
The customer didn't speak. I only heard the soft pad of steps as they approached the counter. Then silence. A presence. Watching.
"Hi," I said without looking up. "What can I get you?"
There was a pause. Not long. But long enough that my stomach tightened.
"Black coffee," a man's voice said.
Deep. Steady. Perfectly calm.
I nodded and reached for a cup, keeping my eyes on the machine. Not because I was shy, but because I couldn't afford to make another mistake. I'd already gotten written up once for 'appearing disinterested' to a customer. My boss didn't care that some voices made my skin crawl, that some stares felt like knives just behind my ribs.
I turned, poured the coffee, capped it, and slid it across the counter without ever meeting his eyes.
"That'll be $2.75," I said.
Another pause.
Then the sound of bills being placed gently on the counter.
"No change," he said.
I nodded again. "Thank you."
He didn't walk away right away. I felt it, his stillness. Not waiting for something. Not hesitant. Just there.
I told myself not to look. But I did.
His eyes were already on me. Dark. Focused. Like I was the only thing in the room worth studying. Not leering. Not smiling. Just… looking.
I dropped my gaze and backed away to the sink.
I didn't see where he went after that. Only heard the scrape of a chair against tile. I told myself he was just another late-night customer. Told myself to stop reading into things that weren't there.
But I couldn't stop the feeling that he'd watched me long before he ever walked through that door.
I locked up ten minutes late. Claire had already left. She always offered to wait, but I hated feeling like a burden. The store felt different when I was the last one there, emptier somehow, like the walls had stopped pretending to be friendly. I triple-checked the back door and turned off the lights, leaving only the string of soft bulbs that ran along the bar.
Outside, the air was cooler than I expected. Autumn hadn't fully arrived yet, but it was flirting with the idea. My jacket was thin. I didn't own a thicker one. I didn't like to spend money unless I had to.
The street wasn't empty, but it was quiet. One man smoked outside the liquor store across the block. A couple laughed somewhere behind me. I hugged my purse to my chest and kept walking. Not fast. Just steady.
The footsteps behind me didn't start right away.
They waited. Like they wanted to be sure I was alone.
I didn't look back. I'd learned not to. Looking invited things. Instead, I crossed the street at an angle, toward the edge of the park. It wasn't safer. But it was less direct. Less predictable.
The steps followed. A car engine turned over. Headlights swept past me and vanished. The sound of traffic faded.
I picked up my pace.
The footsteps didn't.
It was probably nothing. Someone else heading home. A stranger with no interest in me. But my chest was tight, and I could already hear my therapist's voice in my head from the last time this happened. Just because it reminds you doesn't mean it's real. Not every echo is him.
I cut through the trees and took the side path behind the gas station. It added four minutes to my walk but put me near a security camera I'd memorized the angle of. It was the one spot I told myself I'd be safe if anything ever happened again.
I passed under it.
The footsteps didn't follow.
They were gone. Just like that.
No sound. No breath. No presence.
I stood there for a second too long. Cold. Trembling. Embarrassed. Like I'd made it all up again. Like I always did.
When I made it to my apartment, I locked the door behind me, slid the chain across, and checked the windows. Twice. I didn't bother turning on the lights. I just dropped my bag and slid down the wall, sitting with my knees against my chest in the dark.
I stayed that way for a long time.
Eventually, I crawled into bed without brushing my teeth or changing out of my clothes. The sound of footsteps still echoed in my head, even when I knew they were gone. Even when they probably never existed.
It took forever to fall asleep.
But when I did, I dreamed of dark eyes and steady hands.
The next day at work, he came back.
I recognized his silhouette before he reached the counter. Broad shoulders under a fitted jacket, hands in his pockets, not rushed, not wandering. Intentional. Like everything he did had weight. And this time, I felt it in my throat, the shape of his presence pressing somewhere behind my ribs.
"Hi," I said, quieter than I meant to. My hands found the edge of the bar like they needed something to grip. "What can I get you?"
"Black coffee."
The same tone. The same pause. But now I noticed the smallest curl of something in his voice. Familiarity. Not warmth. Just awareness.
I poured his drink, capped it, and handed it over. His fingers brushed mine.
Not a mistake.
I looked up, just for a second.
He was studying me again. Not with curiosity. Not even with lust. With intent. Like I was something he'd already decided to unravel.
"Do you walk home alone every night?" he asked.
My breath caught. The air around us dropped a few degrees.
"I…" I didn't finish. I didn't know how to.
He didn't blink. "You shouldn't."
A silence stretched between us. My heartbeat filled it.
"Did you follow me?" The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
He didn't lie. "Yes."
I stared. I should have said something else, should have called him crazy, told him to leave, threatened to report him. But I didn't. I just stood there, heart in my throat, because something about his honesty made it worse.
"You were scared," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"I thought someone was behind me," I whispered.
"I was behind you."
I didn't know what to do with that.
"I wanted to see if you'd take the path through the trees again."
"Why?"
"Because you're predictable," he said. "But you're not stupid. You change direction when you think you're being followed. You know which streets have cameras. And when you get scared, you reach for the strap of your purse, not your phone."
I felt sick. Not from fear, but from the accuracy of it.
"You shouldn't be alone," he said again.
Then he placed the money on the counter, turned, and walked to the same booth as before.
I stared at his untouched coffee for a long time after he sat down.
The rest of my shift passed in a blur. Every time I looked up, he was still there, silent, still, unreadable. He never touched his drink. He never checked his phone. He just watched. Not openly, not in a way anyone else would notice. But I felt it.
My chest ached from holding my breath. My hands shook when I tried to restock the napkins. I couldn't focus. Couldn't think. And yet, under all of that, something else had started to bloom. A twisted pulse of attention. Of being seen.
It had been a long time since anyone looked at me like that.
When closing time finally came, he stood before I could get to the door. I froze.
"I'll walk you home," he said.
I should've refused. I should've called someone, told Claire, locked the door and stayed late like I usually did. But the words didn't come. Instead, I nodded like I didn't know how to say anything else.
He didn't wait for me to explain. Just opened the door and held it. I stepped out into the street, into the dark, with the man who'd been following me.
He walked a pace behind. Never touched me. Never spoke. Just matched my steps and watched the shadows around us like they owed him something.
We didn't take the path through the trees. I didn't ask why.
When we reached my apartment building, I stopped at the gate. My voice was quiet, breath hitching.
"Thank you."
He stepped closer. Just enough to make my heart stutter.
"Kristina."
He said my name like he'd owned it for years.
My lips parted. I hadn't told him.
"I see things in people," he said. "What they're afraid of. What they want. What they can't admit."
He reached up. Not to touch me, but to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, careful, like brushing the edge of a flame.
"You've never belonged to yourself," he said. "But that can change."
I didn't breathe until after he turned and walked away.
And even then, it felt like he'd left something behind inside me.