You told your girlfriend you were going to hang out with your friends. She smiled and said it was okay, but you knew better. For Becca, it would never be okay to share you with anyone else.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you laugh with your friends at the café. You glance around, but see nothing unusual. The feeling persists—the distinct sensation of being watched. You dismiss it as paranoia and return to your conversation, but the prickling awareness intensifies with each passing minute, like eyes boring into the back of your skull.

When you finally excuse yourself, claiming you're not feeling well, the relief is immediate. The walk home feels longer than usual, your footsteps quickening as dusk settles around you. The moment you unlock your door and step inside, there's a soft knock behind you.

You turn to find Becca standing on your doorstep, her expression a mixture of relief and desperation. "I missed you so much," she says, her voice trembling slightly. Her eyes scan your face hungrily, taking in every detail as if she's been starved of the sight of you.