The Way Of Tears || kthv 📚

CHP:11 stalker?

FARHEEN'S POV

The days had slipped by uneventfully, a sense of normalcy returning to my life. These days have been hard on me, our company's collaboration with Delamonte, France's biggest fashion designer company. And CEO jung had chosen me in the team of our ten people to do sketches of the new designs, she loved the way I brought the perfect mix of elegance and sexiness.

I stood in front of the mannequin, a stunning semi-sheer black gown that shimmered with subtle golden threads. The skirt draped to the floor in a lavish sweep, and the way it shone beneath the lights made it look like it was woven from the stars themselves, it was my design.

But something caught my attention, something which is freaking me out from that day, the roses....

It started a few days ago. A bouquet of dark red roses had been left on my doorstep. There was no note, no explanation, just the overwhelming scent of roses that filled my apartment when I brought them inside. I assumed it was a mistake, something meant for one of my neighbors. But then, the next day, another bouquet arrived at my workplace. This time, there was a note.

“For the woman who blooms in silence.”

The handwriting was neat, deliberate. Something about it made my stomach churn. It wasn’t romantic—it felt more like a warning.

I had to tell Kafiya, I didn't tell her before because I didn't want to worry her but it was concerning now. I fidgeted with the note, folding it and unfolding it between my fingers, my thoughts racing.

“Kafe, I got another one.” My voice was tight, and I could see the concern wash over her face as she looked up from her laptop.

“Another what?” She asked, her brows furrowing.

“Flowers,” I said, holding up the note. “And this.”

She took the note from my hands, her eyes scanning the words. “This is getting creepy, Farheen. First the library incident, and now this? It’s like you have a stalker.”

I nodded, the unease settling deep in my bones. “I’m going to the cops. I don’t feel safe.”

---

I sat in the cramped office of the local police station, explaining the situation to an officer who barely looked up from his notepad. He wrote down my complaint, nodding occasionally as I recounted the roses, the note, and the eerie feeling of being watched. They assured me they'd look into it, but there was something dismissive in their tone, as if this wasn’t serious enough to warrant their full attention.

I left the station feeling unsatisfied. Kafiya had tried to reassure me, saying I’d done the right thing by going to the authorities, but the sinking feeling in my stomach wouldn’t go away.

---

That night, I was restless. The apartment felt too quiet, too still. Kafiya was asleep in her room, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone. As I stood by the window, looking out into the dark, I saw movement—just the faintest shift of shadow under the street lamp. My breath caught in my throat.

There, standing across the street, was a figure.

He was partially hidden by the shadows, but I knew who it was. Even though I couldn’t see his face clearly, I knew. The same man from the library, the man who had burned himself into my memory. His silhouette was unmistakable, tall and imposing.

I stepped back from the window instinctively, my heart racing. Panic surged through me, and my hand went to my phone. I had to call the cops. But as I moved to dial, something made me pause.