'I turned down a handsome doctor after our first date. Then a letter showed up at my work.'

As told to Ann DeGrey.

I matched with Dr Pete* on Tinder and, judging by his photos, he looked too good to be true.

I thought he was probably using a filter. Red flag? I wasn't sure but I thought it wouldn't hurt to meet him so I agreed to catch up for a casual dinner.

I was pleasantly (VERY) surprised when he looked even better in real life.

He was the kind of guy who turned heads: not very tall, but with dark hair, blue eyes and impeccably dressed. He also had a great smile and a deep, soothing voice.

My friends always said I should go for someone like him; a doctor, responsible, intelligent, successful. On paper, he was everything a woman could want. And yet, from the very first date, something felt off.

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We had dinner at a trendy wine bar and he was constantly telling me I was pretty and making plans to see me again. At the end of the night, he walked me to where my Uber was waiting.

He kissed me on the cheek, hugged me and said "I love you." The words were so out of place, so premature, that I felt quite ill. Major red flag!

I smiled awkwardly, pretending I hadn't heard him. No one says that on a first date. It was too much, too soon. It was just very weird. I didn't block him but I knew I didn't want to see him again. I'd had enough of weird and possessive men. No thanks.

The next morning, he texted, asking to see me for lunch. I crafted a polite but firm response, telling him that I didn't feel a spark and didn't think we were a match. He responded almost immediately, thanking me for my honesty. It was a relief. He seemed to take it well, and I thought that was the end of it.

A few days later, a bouquet of roses arrived at my office. My colleagues wanted to know who'd sent them. I had no idea until I saw Dr Pete's name on the card. I quickly texted him a brief thank you, not wanting to be rude but also not wanting to encourage him. His reply came quickly.

"Can we try again? Just one more date?"

I took a deep breath before typing my response. "I really appreciate the flowers, Pete, but I don't think it would be fair to lead you on. I wish you all the best."

This time, he didn't reply and I assumed he'd moved on.

A week passed, then one day at work a letter appeared on my desk. There was no return address, just my name, typed neatly on the envelope. I opened it and saw a photo of me, sitting alone at my favourite café, reading a book. It wasn't an old photo; it had been taken recently. I recognised the clothes I was wearing and that I had my hair pulled into a tight bun. Someone had been watching me. Someone had followed me without me knowing.

My gut told me it was him.

I grabbed my phone and typed a message: "Did you send me a photo? Please never contact me again." For a moment, the screen showed that he was typing. Then, nothing. He just didn't respond, and that silence was almost worse than an answer.

I blocked his number, along with his social media accounts. But every couple of weeks, strange new profiles would follow me; accounts with no pictures, no posts, just blank spaces that lingered before disappearing again. I told myself I was being paranoid. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe I was overthinking things.

Then, one day I came home from work to find something waiting for me at my front door.

A bouquet of roses — dead roses! The petals were shrivelled and black, a black ribbon wrapped around the lifeless bunch. It felt like a warning and my gut told me it was from Dr Pete, who clearly didn't take rejection very well. I had no proof, but my instincts told me it could only be from him.

That's when I really panicked because I'd never given him my address. Somehow, he'd found me. I nearly sent him a text, demanding answers. But I realised that'd be foolish because he wanted a response. Instead, I called the police.

They listened and were sympathetic but ultimately unable to do much. The officer told me there's no direct threat and no proof that the dead flowers were from him. They told me to lock my doors and change my usual routine. I was so worried I asked my brother to stay a few nights with me. What could he want? Was this about revenge or power? I could only guess.

Just a few days ago I had another strange account following me and a message on Instagram which only said "Fickle."

Again, I'm sure it's him referring to me rejecting him. It might sound ridiculous to some people but I'm still living with the fear that he might send me something or contact me again.

I'm staying well away from dating apps and the way I feel right now, I don't care if I'm single forever.

The author of this article is known to Mamamia but has chosen to remain anonymous for privacy reasons.

Feature image: Getty.