No.
This was a person.
A deliberate one.
And I was so tired of being hunted in places no one else would remember five minutes later.
I looked up at the convex security mirror fixed to the ceiling at the end of the aisle and saw him two aisles back.
Gray hoodie.
Hands in pockets.
Still.
Watching me.
Not pretending to shop. Not pretending not to know me. Just standing there with the casual patience of someone who had learned exactly how much fear a woman can carry before she starts looking small to herself.
I looked away immediately.
My pulse slammed into my throat so hard it hurt.
I told myself to move.
Walk to the counter. Speak clearly. Ask the cashier to call someone. Say the words out loud this time. Make the danger public enough that it can no longer stand in aisle seven pretending to be coincidence.
I didn’t move.
That is the part no one likes to talk about after the fact.
The paralysis.
The humiliating pause between knowing and acting.
People think fear always makes you run. Sometimes it makes you very, very still because your body is trying to calculate whether movement will escalate what shadow had so far merely threatened.
I was standing there bargaining with my own lungs when the air behind me changed.
I noticed it before I knew why.
Not warmer.
Not softer.
Different.
The space at my back felt occupied in a way that was not accidental. There was no shuffling. No hesitant shopper reaching for a drink. No careless invasion of personal space. It was controlled. Quiet. Close enough to register without touching me. Like a wall had stepped into existence exactly where I might have fallen backward.
I froze harder.
