The thin line

She's perfect. Ella Dawson. So unaware, so caught up in her own world, she doesn't even notice how often I'm there. It's the little things that get to me-the way her fingers curl around a coffee cup, the way her eyes flicker nervously when she feels watched. But she doesn't see me, not really. Not yet.

I've been patient. I know exactly where to find her-where she goes, when she'll be there, and who she'll talk to. Her life, so neatly packaged, is just waiting for me to slip inside. I can feel it when she looks up, her gaze flicking in my direction, but I'm already gone. Just a shadow. But every glance, every moment I linger in her periphery, draws her closer. She'll notice me soon because I'm on a thin line right now. And when she does, she'll understand why I've been watching her.

Waiting for her.