The memory of Peter helping her lingered in Zen's mind long after the incident had passed. She replayed it in quiet moments, the way his steady hands had taken the napkins from her, the way his presence had silenced the room without him uttering a single word. It had been such a simple act, yet it unsettled her more than anything else he had done. It was as if his silence carried more meaning than most people's laughter or kindness. Zen found herself wondering about him in moments when she should have been focused on her classes or her tasks. Who was he, really? What kind of life shaped a man so closed off, yet capable of unexpected gentleness? Her curiosity began as a quiet whisper, but it grew louder with each passing day, until it became impossible to ignore.
She started to notice the little things. Peter always ordered the same drink, always sat at the same corner table with a book or sometimes a worn notebook. He rarely spoke to anyone beyond the necessary words, and he carried himself with an air of distance that made him seem untouchable. Yet Zen sensed that there was more beneath the surface, something he guarded carefully, something that only deepened her curiosity. She wondered if he was a student at the university, or if he worked nearby. She wondered what his family was like, what kind of home he returned to when the day ended. The questions piled up in her mind, making her restless, and she realized with a faint smile that she wanted to know him far more than she should.
Her friends noticed her distraction and teased her lightly when they saw her eyes wander toward his usual seat. Zen brushed off their remarks with laughter, but inside she felt a strange ache. It was not just attraction, though she could not deny the way her heart stirred when he entered the café. It was something deeper, a pull toward the mystery of him, toward the quiet sorrow she thought she glimpsed in his eyes when he thought no one was looking. She wanted to reach past the walls he had built, even if she was not sure what she might find on the other side. For a girl who had grown up with everything handed to her, Peter's silence was like a locked door she was determined to open, if only to prove to herself that she could.
The more she thought of him, the more Zen realized that her life felt strangely incomplete without understanding why he existed the way he did. She had known people who boasted, people who wore their lives like badges for the world to admire. But Peter was different. He seemed to carry his life quietly, hidden away, and that secrecy drew her like a moth to a flame. She began to imagine scenarios in which she could strike up conversations, perhaps finding the right words to make him open up. Yet each time she rehearsed in her mind, she felt the sharp edge of his cold replies holding her back. Still, her determination grew stronger. She wanted to see beyond his silence, even if it meant being burned in the process.