Holidays made things easier.
Patterns broke on holidays. People got careless.
He noticed her routine long before she noticed his. The way she counted steps without realizing it. The way she checked the terrace before fully stepping out, like she already knew something was wrong but didn't want to admit it.
She always came up late morning.
Never early. Never noon. Always in between.
He learned that timing.
From his terrace, everything was visible. Too visible. She thought daylight made her safer. It didn't. It only made her more readable. The way she leaned on the wall. The way her attention drifted downward, never sideways.
Never toward him.
That annoyed him.
He wasn't interested in the noise below. The shouting. The game. The ball hitting concrete again and again. He watched her instead—how her body leaned forward when that boy picked up the bat. How her shoulders relaxed when laughter floated up.
She didn't even realize she did it.
But he did.
He noticed how her eyes followed the game, not the players. How she smiled without meaning to. How she forgot herself for a few seconds at a time. Those seconds bothered him the most.
Because in those moments, she disappeared from him.
He didn't hate the boy.
Hate required effort.
This was simpler.
He just didn't like being ignored.
When she leaned closer to the railing, he shifted deliberately. Not enough to scare her. Just enough to remind her of his presence. He watched the way her fingers tightened around her phone.
Good.
Awareness was important.
He didn't text often. That would be obvious. Sloppy. He chose his moments carefully. Observations, not questions. Statements, not threats.
Hello...
He saw the way her breath hitched when the screen lit up. The way she stepped back immediately, guilt flashing across her face for something she hadn't done wrong.
People were easy like that.
They blamed themselves first.
When she left the terrace, he stayed longer. Always did. Letting the space remember her. Letting the silence settle back into place. From where he stood, he could still hear the game below, still hear her crush laughing.
He followed the sound until it meant nothing.
Then he went inside.
Holidays would come again.
She always came back.
And next time, he wouldn't need to say.
She was already listening.