Part 3
It had only been a week since the London concert — the night Adrian saw her again.
The night he spotted Mira in the crowd, staring up at him with those same quiet, unsettling eyes.
He hadn't slept properly since.
Every creak in his hotel room made him flinch. Every time he looked out the window, he half-expected to see her standing under the streetlight, smiling that patient smile.
His manager and security team assured him she'd vanished — no trace, no booking under her name, no footage leaving the arena.
But Adrian knew she was out there. Watching.
That morning, as he prepared to leave for his next show in Paris, a staff member handed him a small envelope.
"No sender," she said. "It was left with your luggage."
His heartbeat stumbled.
He opened it slowly.
Inside was a folded piece of paper and a single sunflower petal.
You looked beautiful onstage.
You didn't have to be afraid. I told you I'd be near you — just watching, not touching.
I meant what I said: I'm better now.
You don't have to run from me anymore.
Love always, Mira
The paper slipped from his fingers. His breathing grew shallow.
He turned to his bodyguard. "We're canceling Paris. I need— I need to get out of here."
By nightfall, Adrian was alone in a hotel outside the city, under a false name.
Rain streaked down the window, lightning flashing against the skyline. He tried to distract himself with his guitar, strumming soft notes — until a faint knock came from the door.
Three soft knocks. Then silence.
His pulse raced. "Who is it?"
No answer.
Just another knock — lighter this time.
He approached slowly, every sound amplified by fear. He looked through the peephole — but no one was there.
Then, as he turned away, his phone buzzed.
A new message. Unknown number.
Don't be scared. I told you, I'd never hurt you.
I just wanted to see you one last time before you go.
His hands shook. "How did you get this number?" he whispered.
I never lost it.
The typing dots flickered again.
You don't need to run, Adrian. You said you'd sing for me forever. Remember?
Adrian's vision blurred with panic. He threw on a jacket, grabbed his phone, and called security. But as he reached the door — he froze.
There, lying on the floor just outside the threshold, was a small sunflower.
Its petals wet from the rain.
And on one of them, written in tiny ink strokes, were the words:
"Still watching."