The luxurious restaurant buzzed with a sophisticated ambiance, soft jazz melodies mingling with the clink of wine glasses and murmurs of conversation.
Across from each other at a corner table sat me and Keith.
I was dressed in a sleek black blazer, sipping on a glass of red wine, I leaned forward with an air of focused intensity.
"So, sir what do you think about the proposal?" Keith asked, his voice low yet sharp.
I paused, swirling my wine thoughtfully before responding,
"It's promising, Keith. I think with a few tweaks to the financial projections, we can present a compelling case to the investors."
Between discussions of profit margins and market penetration, there were glimpses —a shared laughter over an inside joke, a knowing glance that spoke volumes about our unspoken understanding, and the reason why I still keep Keith by myside.
As we delved deeper into our plans, the waiter discreetly placed their main course—a beautifully plated dish of seared scallops and risotto. The aroma mingled with our conversation, adding a touch of indulgence to our business deliberations.
"Keith, I think we should schedule a follow-up meeting with the legal team next week," I suggested, my tone decisive yet open to his input.
"I agree, sir I'll make the necessary arrangements", I nodded, a small smile on my lips. "And let's draft an outline for the presentation to the committee by Friday."
My attention snapped to a girl who almost slipped upon entering the restaurant—she exuded elegance in every graceful movement. Pausing midway, her gaze locked onto someone with such intensity that it seemed to halt time itself.
Slowly, deliberately, she made her way to a table nearby, where a man—likely her boyfriend or husband—assisted her in seating herself.
Her features bore a striking resemblance to Romanian descent, adding to her allure.
"Sir, you seem distracted," Keith's voice broke through my reverie.
"That girl looks familiar," I nodded toward her, acknowledging the captivating figure that had seized my attention.
Just as I was about to delve into further speculation, my phone rang, abruptly pulling my focus away.
"Jean caught the man," I informed Keith as I ended the call, mentally noting the details.
As the couple prepared to leave, something slipped from the girl's lap unnoticed. She left and I reacted swiftly, I retrieved it from the floor—a scarf adorned with bold red and black patterns.
Instinctively, I lifted it to my nose and inhaled deeply. It didn't carry the typical scents of flowers or lavender or vanilla; instead, it bore the unmistakable aroma of her: the subtle essence of her skin, a hint of sweat mixed with a nostalgic fragrance of biscuits.
"Damn..." I muttered softly, the intoxicating scent enveloping my senses and clouding my thoughts. Acting quickly, I used the scarf as a makeshift mask, covering my mouth and nose in an attempt to clear my head from the overwhelming effect it had on me. but it only made the situation even worse.
.
.
.
The chill of the night air sends shivers down my spine as I hide in the shadows, my eyes fixed on her as she sat in the café .
She's unaware of my presence, typing something furiously in her laptop . The soft glow of yellow lamps casts a warm light on her face as she her gaze was fixed on her work.
I've been here before, night after night, studying her habits, learning every detail of her life. It started intense enough—the scent of the scarf . But now, it's grown into an obsession I can't control.
I know it's wrong. I know I shouldn't be here, watching her like this. But I can't help myself. The need to be near her, to see her, consumes me.
I've collected pieces of her life—notes she's thrown away, a hairpin dropped on the sidewalk—and they're tucked away in a box hidden in my closet, reminders of my fervent devotion.
As I sat here, the weight of guilt and desire battles within me. What started as obsession has twisted into something darker, something I can't escape.
I tell myself I just want to be near her, to be there for her in ways no one else can. But deep down, I know the truth: I want to possess her, to make her mine.
But tonight feels different. A small voice in the back of my mind whispers warnings, urging me to leave before I'm caught.
I know I should listen, but the allure of her presence keeps me rooted in place. What harm could it do, just one more night?
The seconds tick by, each one a heartbeat echoing in the silence. I wrestle with myself, torn between the longing to see her again and the fear of being discovered.
Yet, as the night wears on, I find myself unable to turn away.
I linger a moment longer, drinking in the sight of her . Then, with a heavy heart and a promise to return, I melt back into the darkness, leaving only the echo of my footsteps behind.
I wonder if she smells as intoxicating as the scarf she left behind.