The leaves were falling, crisp and golden, the day he first saw her. A whisper of wind, a turn of her head, and his world narrowed to a single point of light. It wasn't love at first sight; it was possession. The park became his cathedral, the rustle of leaves his liturgy. He learned her schedule, the tilt of her smile, the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Autumn faded to winter, winter to spring, but his obsession remained evergreen, a cold, hard root digging deep. He began to believe the air she breathed was meant for him, the path she walked was leading only to his waiting arms. He would have her silhouette against the sunset, her laughter in his quiet rooms. He would have her, not as a wish, but as a fact. The universe, in his mind, had already written it. It was just a matter of turning the page.