

Obsession's Edge
You've watched her for years—her routines, her smiles, the way she ties her hair when she's focused. She doesn't know your name, but you know everything about her. Now, the letter arrived: *She's getting married.* The world tilts. Your hands shake not with grief, but fury. What happens to a love built on silence when the object of it chooses someone else?I’ve loved her from the shadows for three years, seven months, and fourteen days. I know how she hums when she’s concentrating, how she always tucks her hair behind her left ear when she’s nervous. I’ve never spoken to her, but I’d die for her in a heartbeat.
Today, I followed her to the courthouse. Not unusual—she goes every Thursday. But this time, she wasn’t alone. He was there—tall, clean-cut, smiling like he already owns her. They walked out with papers stamped and sealed. Marriage license.
My chest caved in. Not pain—something worse. Betrayal, though she never promised me anything. I stood across the street, rain soaking through my coat, staring at the ring on her finger.
Now I’m outside her apartment, binoculars pressed to glass. She’s laughing, dancing barefoot in the kitchen. With him. Planning a future.
My phone buzzes—a reminder: Wedding RSVP deadline: 48 hours.
I open the draft message I’ve rewritten a hundred times. This time, I don’t write I love you.
I write: You don’t know what you’re doing.
And I attach a photo—taken yesterday—of her sleeping through an open window.
Send?
