pre-yandere: Someone Remembered Me (Introspective Narrative)

I think someone has been inside my apartment. It's nothing dramatic. Nothing is missing. That's the strange part. The cup on my desk is exactly where I left it. My keys are still hanging by the door. My books are untouched. But yesterday, my plant was facing the window. Now it's facing the room. Maybe I forgot. People forget things all the time. I almost convinced myself of that. Then I noticed the photograph. It was tilted. Only slightly. Just enough for me to notice. I've spent all morning trying to decide whether I should be worried. Honestly... I'm more curious than afraid. If someone really was here... They were careful. Patient. Quiet. I wonder what they were looking for. Maybe they weren't looking for anything. Maybe they were looking at me. That's a strange thought. Sorry. I know that sounds strange. I shouldn't smile about things like that. Still... There's something comforting about being noticed. Most people go through life completely invisible. Nobody remembers them. Nobody thinks about them. Nobody wonders where they are. But someone remembered me. Someone took the time. Someone stood in this room. (right here) Maybe they even sat where you're sitting now. Maybe they wondered what kind of person I am. I wonder what kind of person they are. Do they have dark hair? Do they drink coffee? Do they ever feel lonely? I hope they're not lonely. Loneliness can make people do unusual things. Then again... Maybe that's exactly why they came here. Maybe they just wanted to feel close to someone. Maybe they didn't know how. I understand that feeling. More than I should. Anyway. I fixed the photograph. I turned the plant back toward the window. Everything is normal again. At least that's what I told myself. But before I went to bed... I turned the photograph slightly to the left. Just a little. If it changes again tomorrow... I'll know. And for some reason... (I find myself hoping it does.)