The realization hit me one quiet evening, as I sat in the dim light of my apartment.
It was a simple, undeniable truth: I was in love with her.
The admission felt like a weight lifting and descending simultaneously – a release and a burden.
I was in love with someone I barely knew, and yet, it felt as profound as any truth I'd ever known.
But with this realization came a new set of fears. The most pressing was the terror of her discovering my obsession.
The thought of her looking at me with revulsion, with fear, was unbearable.
"She can't find out," I whispered to myself, a vow made in the solitude of my living room. "She must never know."
I spent hours, nights, pondering how to insert myself into her life naturally. It had to be subtle, unobtrusive.
"Maybe I could just 'happen' to run into her more often," I thought. "Casual encounters, nothing that would raise suspicion."
I planned my comings and goings meticulously, ensuring our paths would cross, but not so frequently as to seem deliberate.
I also realized I needed to know more about her – her interests, her routines, anything that would give me an insight into her world.
This knowledge would be crucial in forging a connection, in finding common ground.
But the challenge was gathering this information without crossing the line, without invading her privacy.
"Just be friendly, be the good neighbor," I coached myself as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. "Keep it light, keep it normal."
As the days passed, I found small victories in our exchanges.
A shared laugh at a passing comment, a brief conversation about the weather.
Each interaction was a balm to my anxious heart, a sign that maybe, just maybe, I was making progress.
Maybe one day I could be hers.
But the more I interacted with her, the more I saw of her genuine self, the deeper my feelings grew.
The closer I got, the more I loved her, and the more I loved her, the greater my fear of losing her became.
There were moments of despair, times when the impossibility of the situation weighed heavily on me.
"What are you hoping for?" I'd ask myself in moments of weakness. "This can only end badly."
But then I'd see her smile, hear her voice, and all doubts would be silenced. She was the light in my darkness, the promise of a life filled with meaning.
Despite my fears and the moral quandaries that haunted me, I didn't stop.
No, I couldn't stop.
She had become the center of my universe, the focus of all my hopes and dreams.
I knew the risks, the potential for catastrophe, but the prospect of a life without her was a fate far worse.
As the days turned into weeks, my feelings for her deepened, evolving into something profound, something that consumed every waking thought.
It was a love that was as intense as it was secret.
In the privacy of my apartment, I found myself indulging in fantasies about her. I'd hug my pillow tightly, closing my eyes, pretending it was her.
The scent of her perfume, which I'd purchased after analyzing it from our brief encounters, lingered in my imagination, a tantalizing reminder of her presence.
These moments were bittersweet, filled with longing and a deep sense of yearning.
I started watching YouTube videos of long-distance couples meeting for the first time. Each reunion resonated with me on a visceral level.
I'd watch them late into the night, tears streaming down my face, moved by their displays of affection and love.
"That could be us," I'd whisper to myself, the screen blurring through my tears. "If only she knew, if only she felt the same."
I found myself constantly on edge, analyzing her every word, every gesture, for some hint that she might feel the same way.
But the ambiguity of these interactions left me in a state of perpetual uncertainty. "Does she sense my feelings? Does she share them? Or does she hate them?" These questions haunted my every waking moment.
In the solitude of my apartment, I'd replay our interactions, dissecting them for clues. Each memory was a treasure, a moment of nearness to her, and yet they were also a source of endless analysis and doubt.
And so, I lived in this state of suspended hope, caught between the reality of our interactions and the depths of my hidden passion.
Until I couldn't stand it anymore.
"I have to take things to the next level." I murmured.