The first time she saw him, the world slowed down. Not in the dramatic way movies show, with music swelling and petals falling from the sky, but in a quieter, stranger way. The crowd around her blurred, voices dimmed, and all she could notice was him—leaning slightly against the wall, phone in his hand, shoulders relaxed as if nothing in the world could shake him.
She caught herself staring.
Something about him was unsettling. Not dangerous, but magnetic. The kind of presence that made the air heavier, made her pulse betray her. She tried to look away, but her eyes refused. And in that silent battle between logic and instinct, his gaze lifted—straight into hers.
For a moment, neither of them smiled. Neither of them looked away. It was as if a thread had been pulled between their chests, tying them together in an invisible knot.
When he finally walked toward her, her heart betrayed her again—too fast, too loud.
"Do we know each other?" he asked, voice low, curious, with the faintest trace of amusement in his tone.
No," she replied quickly, almost too quickly. But her lips curved into the smallest smile.
Something in his eyes flickered, a storm hidden behind calm waters. He gave a small nod and looked at her a second too long before turning away.
It was nothing, she told herself. Just a glance. Just a stranger.
But that night, as she lay awake in bed, replaying his face in her mind, she knew something had begun—something quiet, dangerous, and irreversible.