Through her eyes

Hello everyone! Today, I'm inviting you on a bit of a special journey… We’re setting the coffee aside for a moment (or maybe not, because honestly, nothing beats a good cappuccino), but we’re adding a hint of mystery and a dash of obsession. Yes, you heard right! If you love stories that delve into the human psyche with a slightly dark twist, this episode is just for you.

I’m thrilled to introduce a brand-new format for Cappuccino & Croissant: a narrative journey into an original story I wrote, Through Her Eyes. It’s a deep dive into the mind of Emma, a young woman whose obsession with a celebrity spirals her into a dizzying descent. For this first episode, I’ll be reading the prologue for you... but, fair warning, it’s just a taste. To find out what happens next with Emma, you’ll need to subscribe on Patreon or the official website!

An obsession... or something more?

In a world where celebrities seem so close yet remain untouchable, it’s easy to be captivated by the faces we see through our screens. But what happens when innocent admiration turns into an obsession that consumes every thought, every minute?

This is the story of Emma, a young woman with a shadowed past, who harbors a deep—and increasingly unsettling—interest in Alex Sterling, a star as charismatic as he is elusive. Emma has sacrificed everything to get closer to him, lurking in the shadows of his every move, every appearance, with each smile and detail becoming a clue in her mind.

The prologue of Through Her Eyes explores that thin line between fascination and obsession, plunging us into a narrative that reveals as much about Emma as it does the intricate world she’s woven around Alex. This first chapter invites you into the story of a woman ready to do whatever it takes to cross the line between fiction and reality.

➡️ Buy Through Her Eyes here: www

Chapter one, part 1.

The hotel corridor that evening seemed to be numbed by a strange torpor. Beige walls, adorned with subtle moldings, vanished into the shadows. A row of identical doors stretched endlessly, each bearing a number engraved on a golden plaque. The dim glow of wall sconces diffused an artificial calm, as though this floor of the luxury hotel sought to isolate its interior from the chaos outside. In the distance, the muffled sound of footsteps—perhaps a room service employee—deepened the impression of a suspended place, where the travelers’ routines mingled with a subtle tension.

Emma stood in the shadow of an alcove near the elevator, her shoulders pressed against a paneled wall of polished wood. This blind spot allowed her to discreetly watch Alex and Sophie’s room, just a few meters away. For her, that unremarkable door held a mystical power: behind it was the man she had traveled hundreds of kilometers to see. A faint draft from the air conditioning brushed against her neck, a cold reminder of her immobility. Her muscles were taut, her heart pounded, and a shiver rippled across her skin. The waiting was beginning to wear her down, but she remained frozen.

Earlier that evening, Emma had blended into the crowd around the runways, attending the fashion show as just another spectator. She had waited for Alex’s appearance, feigned indifference to stay unnoticed, and slipped away at the first wave of applause. She knew his habits: after the show, he liked to retreat for an intimate moment, often in Sophie’s company. That woman, who had appeared out of nowhere, had quickly taken the place Emma had once imagined was destined for her. The thought of Alex sharing his quiet with someone else made her feel ill. The corridor felt stifling then. She tugged lightly at the collar of her black shirt, feeling the fabric tighten around her throat.

The door she watched, its edges sharp and polished, revealed nothing. No laughter seeped through the panel, no whispered voices reached her ears. Yet Emma believed she could perceive something—a presence, an exchange of silence. Perhaps the faintest shadow of movement cast by the interior light, a reflection, a shift in brightness beneath the threshold. She bit her lip. The longer she stared, the more she interpreted, the more her own perception wavered. Reality was no longer enough. She had come here for a decisive moment, something unique: proof that Alex needed her, the certainty that she alone could understand his soul. Through that door, she hoped to confirm what her fantasies had whispered to her for months. And Sophie… she was there, all too real, an obstacle as concrete as these walls.

Her legs were starting to tingle, but she couldn’t risk moving openly. A housekeeping cart, abandoned by the staff, provided her with additional cover. She had slipped into the narrow space between the cart and the wall, where the chemical scent of cleaning products lingered. That smell anchored her, unwillingly, to the tangible world. An ironic reminder: while she plotted impossible scenarios, ordinary life went on, indifferent to her drama. The industrial fragrance of detergent stung her throat, but this detail reassured her in her role as a clandestine spectator. Her body displayed a litany of stress signals—clammy hands, irregular breathing, a tightness in her neck. Yet all of it was insignificant compared to the potential reward of a single moment: a glance from Alex, the movement of his hand.

Emma had known Alex for far too long—or at least through screens, images, and interviews. Fashion Week was a stage on which he shone, and she had come all this way to see him in the flesh, to prove her own devotion. It was no longer about admiration or curiosity. She wanted to transcend the distance, to make the connection real. Each thought fed a consuming anticipation. She imagined Alex, pensive, sitting on the edge of the bed staring at his phone, unconsciously searching for a presence that truly understood him. She pictured him tired, vulnerable, on the verge of appreciating the company of a sincere soul—not like Sophie, that perfectly constructed impostor.

Sophie, of course. Emma had seen her earlier at the show: tall, elegant, captivatingly beautiful. She embodied the kind of partner the public admired for Alex, the perfect duo of sophistication. Yet, to Emma, that image was only a façade. Sophie couldn’t possibly comprehend the depth of Alex; she was just decor, an accessory in his life. If Emma had been in her place, everything would have been different. She would have known how to soothe his doubts, to understand his silences, to offer genuine care. That thought was both comforting and unbearable. Jealousy gnawed at her stomach, an insidious bitterness, as though fate mocked her by parading a happiness forever out of reach.

A faint creak rang out, snapping Emma from her thoughts. She stopped breathing for a second. A delicate sound, barely audible, coming from inside the room. She squinted, trying to catch even the faintest shadow beneath the door. Nothing conclusive. Still, she was certain something had changed within. A figure, maybe, moving behind a curtain? A muffled laugh, or the rustle of fabric? Every sound heightened the tension in her chest. This closeness, without contact, was a delicious torment: poised at the threshold of the world she longed for, yet unable to touch it.

The thick carpet absorbed her slightest movements. She placed a hand on the cart, feeling its metal surface chilled by the internal air conditioning. A mix of pure adrenaline and discomfort compelled her to stay, again and again, despite the absence of certainty. Yet shouldn’t she have left by now? Why persist? She had already invested so much time, so much energy, in following Alex’s trail. She had left her modest apartment, taken days off work, saved up to be here—convinced there would be an opportune moment when their eyes would finally meet. The mere thought of giving up made her nauseous. To leave would mean admitting it was all unfounded, that her sacrifices were in vain. Impossible.

In the distance, an elevator chimed softly as it opened, casting a faint white light onto the opposite wall. Emma pressed herself closer to the housekeeping cart. A uniformed employee pushed a rolling tray past, her expression distant, perhaps lost in thought—or simply indifferent. She didn’t so much as glance in their direction. Emma held her breath, almost exhilarated by her invisibility, and realized just how much energy each second was draining from her. Silence fell once more, and with it, the scene resumed its original tension. Alex and Sophie’s door remained closed. Emma noted the absence of a peephole—a detail of no real importance, but one her mind clung to desperately. If only she could see inside. For a moment, she imagined knocking—just once—just to glimpse their reaction. It was an insane impulse, one she immediately suppressed, shaken by her own audacity.

She tried to calm her thoughts. The corridor exhaled an artificial scent, a blend of air freshener and fabric softener. The smooth, featureless walls were like an impersonal labyrinth. Emma thought of the other hotel guests, probably asleep by now or deep in conversation behind their doors. For them, the evening was a forgettable anecdote. For her, it was an inner battle where every sound echoed like a threat or a promise.

She briefly recalled Alex’s face at the show: his distant gaze, the way he greeted the crowd without really seeing them, as if his mind were somewhere else. That detachment had always fascinated her, surrounding him with an inaccessible aura. She had convinced herself she could see the cracks, a void she could fill. Now, she was finally so close. Yet Sophie was behind that door, sharing discreet laughter and intimate conversations. Emma clenched her fists, jealousy pulsing through her veins, gnawing away at her rationality. Was it the inability to belong to that tableau that made her so nervous? She had hoped that by being here, everything would become clear—that the reality of their relationship would either liberate her or inspire her. Instead, she felt trapped, an intruder frozen in place.

Time stretched endlessly, refusing her even the slightest progress. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a brief retreat into the darkness of her eyelids. There, she tried to reconstruct Alex’s image, detached from the circumstances: an elegant gesture, a smile on an old photograph. Was this idealized face worth enduring such stress? The question struck her like a blow, accompanied by a dizzying wave of doubt. If she gave up, what would she have left? The sacrifices she had made to be here—the small lies, this life on hold—couldn’t be wasted. She had to persist, even if only to glean scraps of information, a hint that Alex was different with Sophie than he was in front of the cameras. She needed to see the truth, whether it was sweet or cruel.

A sharper beam of light under the door caught her attention. She thought she saw a shadow glide across the carpet—perhaps Sophie crossing the room, her graceful silhouette illuminated by a lamp. A knot formed in Emma’s throat. Their worlds were separated by mere centimeters of wood: intimacy shared within, and Emma, a stranger, fantasizing about what she didn’t know. A wave of anger swelled inside her. Why did Sophie get to have that privilege? What did she have that Emma didn’t? In Emma’s mind, the answer was simple: nothing. Sophie had nothing more—nothing except the place Emma should have occupied.

She leaned forward slightly, straining to catch a clearer sound. But the silence mocked her. Sinking once more into her thoughts, she revisited her illusions. The fantasy of Alex had become her refuge against an oppressive banality. Through him, she escaped a dull, lackluster reality. When she saw him on screen, smiling in photos or answering interview questions, she projected onto him everything she lacked: confidence, grace, recognition. She had convinced herself that he would understand her, that he would see her as a hidden kindred spirit. Tonight, faced with the opacity of this door, she was struck by the absurdity of her situation. Yet she was still unable to leave.

Outside, in the night, the park lights glittered, creating a fairy-tale backdrop. Here, in this neutral corridor, there was no magic—only the cold, silent emptiness of a luxury hotel and an interminable wait. Emma wondered if Alex was laughing right now, if his voice was drifting softly through the room, or if Sophie was sharing an anecdote from the evening. Imagining such moments twisted her chest with a dark emotion, a mix of frustration and shame. She could have been elsewhere, living a quiet life, accepting her place as just another anonymous admirer. But no, she needed more. That insatiable thirst held her here, against this wall, in the shadows, waiting for the impossible.

A faint clattering echoed behind her. Emma turned halfway, suppressing a start. Another cart, pushed by a different employee, appeared at the far end of the corridor. She hunched her shoulders as the cart stopped two doors down, likely for room service. The silence persisted, broken only by a few muffled noises. After several long seconds, Emma fixed her gaze back on Alex and Sophie’s door. No reaction to the minor event. Perhaps they were asleep—or lost in intimate conversation? The thought of them lying next to each other, sharing laughter and whispered confidences, made her stomach clench. She felt her nails digging into her palm. She wished the door would open, that Sophie would step out, if only for a moment, so Emma could seize the opportunity, show herself, force fate’s hand. But no. Sophie remained invisible, a silent guardian of a territory Emma couldn’t cross.

Every minute frayed Emma’s mental state further, tightening the grip of her obsession. She swung between silent rage and delirious hope, incapable of walking away. Even paralyzed and caught in this grotesque paradox, she preferred to stay, to watch, to try and decipher any small sign. The strange power Alex held over her didn’t waver. Fed by fantasy, her obsession dictated her actions, illusions overpowering reality and smothering any semblance of reason.

The seconds dragged on, her muscles ached, her breathing was measured, but she remained—a tense sentry before an invisible border. The world around her seemed to have evaporated, leaving only this closed door, Sophie behind it, Alex perhaps just a few meters away, and Emma, trapped in silence, ready to wait as long as it took until the tension became unbearable. She would watch for the slightest shift of the handle, the faintest proof that the moment of truth was near.

Ready to take that risk despite fear, guilt, and the absurdity of it all, Emma allowed her obsession to continue its reign within her—here, in this muffled cocoon under the corridor’s dimmed lights.

Conclusion

And there you have it, that was the prologue of Through her eyes. I hope you’re as hooked on this story as I am. Emma’s just at the start of her obsession, but trust me, things are about to get much darker and more twisted... Want to know what she does next? Head over to my Patreon page, where you can listen to the rest exclusively.

In the meantime, don’t forget to subscribe to the podcast, leave a quick rating, drop a comment, and—most importantly—share this episode with your friends. I’ll catch you very soon for more adventures on Cappuccino & Croissant. And remember… it all starts with a look. Alright, take care!