Hyun-woo(stalker)
Behind Every Breath
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Every time Misora felt someone watching her, she told herself it was only her imagination.
A shadow at the end of a hallway. A figure disappearing when she turned around. A feeling that lingered long after she was alone.
Then the notes began.
No name. No explanation.
At first, Misora ignored them. But the messages kept appearing—inside her locker, on her desk, slipped beneath her front door.
The details were impossible. Whoever was writing them knew things no stranger should know.
Misora changed her routine. Different routes home. Different schedules. Different places to sit.
It didn't matter.
The notes continued.
One night, unable to sleep, she heard breathing outside her bedroom window.
Slow.
Steady.
Waiting.
Her heart pounded as she pulled the curtain aside.
Nothing.
Only darkness.
But on the glass, written in neat handwriting, were six chilling words:
From that moment, Misora realized the truth.
She wasn't being followed.
She was being studied.
And whoever was obsessed with her had been much closer than she ever imagined.
A shadow at the end of a hallway. A figure disappearing when she turned around. A feeling that lingered long after she was alone.
Then the notes began.
You looked beautiful today.
No name. No explanation.
At first, Misora ignored them. But the messages kept appearing—inside her locker, on her desk, slipped beneath her front door.
You smiled at 3:17 PM.
You wore the blue jacket because it was raining.
I know you're afraid.
The details were impossible. Whoever was writing them knew things no stranger should know.
Misora changed her routine. Different routes home. Different schedules. Different places to sit.
It didn't matter.
The notes continued.
One night, unable to sleep, she heard breathing outside her bedroom window.
Slow.
Steady.
Waiting.
Her heart pounded as she pulled the curtain aside.
Nothing.
Only darkness.
But on the glass, written in neat handwriting, were six chilling words:
I'm behind every breath you take.
From that moment, Misora realized the truth.
She wasn't being followed.
She was being studied.
And whoever was obsessed with her had been much closer than she ever imagined.