The city moved around me like it always did, but I felt a weight I couldn't shake. The memory of him, his quiet intensity, his eyes that seemed to see right through me, lingered like smoke. I told myself to ignore it. I had to. People like him didn't notice someone like me for long.
But when I arrived at my usual corner, I spotted him before he saw me. He was across the street, leaning against a building, watching. Not judging. Not waiting impatiently. Just watching. And somehow that was worse.
I tried to focus on my beads, but my fingers kept fumbling. Each bracelet felt heavier than it should, as if it carried a question I didn't know how to answer.
He walked toward me again, and this time he stopped a little closer, just within earshot. His expression was unreadable, like he was balancing curiosity with something else,something I couldn't name.
"You work quickly," he said casually, picking up a bracelet without touching the others. "Do you always finish your pieces this early?"
"Yes," I replied. "I like to get ahead."
He nodded, eyes still on me. "It suits you. Focused. Careful. Thoughtful."
I swallowed. Compliments from strangers didn't usually unsettle me, but this one did. There was something in the way he spoke,soft but certain,that made it impossible to look away.
"I hope this isn't too forward," he continued, "but I'd like to see more of your work sometime. Maybe… all of it."
I hesitated. His tone wasn't threatening. It wasn't flirty. It was simply… direct. Too direct.
"I'm not sure," I said cautiously. "People usually take what they want and don't come back."
He smiled faintly, a small, quiet curve of his lips. "I like to take my time."
There was a pause. I wanted to step back, to remind myself that he was just another stranger, just another man. But my feet stayed planted, because part of me wanted to know what he would do next.
"You're careful," he said finally. "I like that. Most people aren't."
The city noise returned as he stepped back, giving me space, and then he turned and disappeared again. This time, though, he left a trace of something behind,like a door had been opened, and I couldn't close it even if I wanted to.
I stared at the beads in my hands, feeling both cautious and curious. There was a story behind his eyes, a weight I couldn't guess. And for reasons I didn't understand, I wanted to find out.