But I did not get that chance. He never again walked up to me to talk to me.

Days went by where I spied on him, trying hard to get his attention by laughing slightly louder at my friends jokes then I normally would have done when he was not around. I even tried standing strategically in places where he would likely bump into me or at least get him to see me.

I never got more than a quick glance. This continued for months and months where I slowly found myself getting obsessed.

My path slowly changed as well. I did not feel comfortable nor secure like I once felt and it looked like it was darker, as if mist was floating over it. The flyers of the missing cat were taken away, the little red house where the stout lady lived was put up for sale and I felt like everything I once liked was disappearing.