Stalker

She saw him lurking in the bushes outside her house as she looked out of the bedroom window. There was no element of stealth to it. He wasn't especially good at what he was doing or was that the point? Perhaps he wanted to be discovered?
She didn't care. She sat at her dressing table and brushed her hair. The binoculars he used were almost blinding her as they reflected the sun straight into her eyes via the mirror.
She saw him come out of the bushes and walk down the road. She knew she'd see him again on the bus and outside her work and in the coffee shop and in the park at lunchtime and on the bus home again.
She pulled open the drawer of the dressing table and took out her scrapbook. She leafed through the pages. They were full of photos of her stalker that she'd taken while he wasn't looking.
She touched the one where he looked handsome outside the bank.
One day, she thought.