He Said I Was Obsessed, Then Moved Below Me Chapter 2

The first week, I ran into him three times.

Tuesday morning at the bun shop near the complex entrance, he was behind me in line and said, "What a coincidence."

Thursday evening in the underground parking garage, his car was parked in the empty spot right next to mine.

Sunday afternoon at the complex supermarket, I turned with a carton of milk, and he was standing at the other end of the aisle.

Each time, he wore that reluctant expression, as if to say, "I didn't want to run into you either." Each time, there were other people present—an elderly man out for a stroll, a neighbor parking their car, the cashier.

The second week, people in our mutual friends' group chat started piping up.

"Autumn, did you know Mark moved there and that's why you won't move out?"

"I think you should move to a different complex, it would be better for both of you."

"Mark says he's in a difficult position, just give him a break."

I read through each message. Not one asked, "Why did Mark move into her complex?" Everyone assumed one premise: Autumn was the one who couldn't let go. I set the group chat to mute notifications.

Wednesday noon, Sarah sat across from me, holding her lunchbox.

"Autumn, don't get mad, but I need to tell you something."

"Go ahead."

"Liam from sales said your ex-boyfriend contacted him last week and added him on social media. When they chatted, he asked about you, and his tone... how should I put it, it was that really heartbroken, helpless kind of feeling. He said you still hadn't moved on and had even moved near his apartment complex."

I put down my chopsticks. "Sarah, he moved into my complex. I've lived here for two years."

"I know, I know." Sarah nodded, but her next words betrayed her, "But still, you could consider moving somewhere else. Out of sight, out of mind, right?"

Out of sight, out of mind. I was living perfectly fine. He moved in. And then everyone told me to move out. I closed my lunchbox, suddenly losing my appetite.

At 4 PM, I received a text from an unknown number.

"Autumn, it's Alex. Mark's really not doing well lately, can you please stop this? Just pity him a little."

This. Stop what?

Me living in my own home, going out for breakfast, shopping at the supermarket, was "this"?

I didn't reply to the text. I opened my phone's notepad and created a new file. The title was two words: "Record."

The first line I wrote was: April 12th, Mark moved into Harmony Garden complex, Unit 3, Building C.

The second line: Starting April 23rd, "coincidentally" met three times in the complex within a week.

The third line: Late April, at least five people in the mutual friends' group chat advised me to "let go."

The fourth line: May 1st, Alex texted me to "stop this."

After writing, I placed my phone face down on the table. The sun was bright outside. I took a deep breath.