Martin’s patience snapped. He followed her one damp afternoon, staying just far enough behind. She didn’t notice. At the café near the library, she sat with him. We discovered his name was Graham. They leaned over papers together, their heads nearly touching, voices low but intense.
He wasn’t touching her inappropriately, not even close, but his attention to her was total. He listened with unnerving focus, nodding at her words, guiding with his hand as he pointed to something written. To Martin, it looked intimate, respectable on the surface, but sinister beneath.