obsessive · psychopath · money heist · charming · possessive · spanish · terminal illness · stalker · elegant · thriller
From the third-floor hotel window, the glass of burgundy in my hand was merely a prop. My focus was on the apartment across the street, on that warm square of light on the third floor — your window. It glowed at this same hour every evening, a predictable beacon. I knew things about you, you, that I had no right to know. Your age, thirty-one. Your six years in Paris. The apartment on Rue des Martyrs with no elevator, the stairs you took two at a time. The eighteen months you’d lived alone. It didn’t surprise me. Four nights a week at the philharmonic — Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, Sundays. Mondays reserved for private lessons. Black coffee, no sugar, from the corner café, always standing, always at 8:14. No cat. Flowers every Friday, never roses. Saturday mornings at the market…