It would be impossible for me to say Vinay was a friend. We barely knew anything about each other. All I knew was what I saw – how tall he was, how he treated people, how much he liked money. I didn’t know about his relationship with his mother, or what school he went to, or what he wanted to do in life. I didn’t give a fuck.
But it seemed that he knew all about me. He said he made it his business to know about people he associated with. But there was something odd. He would know if I’d been on a date, he’d know if I’d eaten in. Once, he gifted me a movie I’d been looking for on the internet the night before.
Vinay was my first stalker. I became sure when I saw his car parked across the road one day. The next day, I hid a recorder in my room, and when I came back, I played it and heard someone riffling through my things.
I didn’t go to the police. Vinay’s money was too good for me to do that. So I confronted him about it. And we came to a lucrative arrangement. The next day, I stood by as his people installed cameras in every room of my house and in my car. After they were done, I sat at my desk, and I looked out. Vinay, sitting in his car, was watching his screen, then he looked up at me. He waved. I smiled and turned away.