My steps echoed through the university courtyard, each footfall a somber beat beneath the crisp autumn air. It wasn't the watchful eyes of strangers that stirred my unease; it was his gaze, an unseen force that coiled around me like an invisible shroud.
Frost Millay, a mystery wrapped in unruly curls and piercing gray eyes, materialized in every corner I turned. I reassured myself he wasn't a stalker, yet that distinction provided little comfort. His eyes, intense and focused, trailed my every move, turning my daily routine into a relentless pursuit.
He wasn't the conventional predator, but his observation felt predatory. His gaze, a blade that cut through my defenses, as if he held the key to the locked chambers of my soul. I, adept at shielding my emotions, felt exposed in his presence.
A strand of ginger hair brushed aside, I found myself locking eyes with him. His penetrating gaze seemed to decode the unspoken language beneath my stoic exterior. A hunter sizing up his prey, confident in his ability to unveil hidden truths.
"I hate it," I whispered to myself, the words lost in the rustle of leaves. Resentment surged within me—an instinctive response to the intrusion, the unwelcome scrutiny that threatened the sanctuary I had painstakingly constructed.
I quickened my steps, a futile attempt to outrun the weight of his observation. Yet, no matter how swiftly I moved, the unsettling awareness persisted— Frost Millay was omnipresent, a specter haunting the edges of my existence. "I hate him," I repeated, a mantra echoing against the disquieting reality that he had become an inescapable presence in my carefully curated world.