“He is searching for himself in others’ eyes.“

The cold seeps into your bones. The night isn’t dark, but empty — as if the city had exhaled for a second and gone silent. The pavement beneath your feet is wet, reflecting the yellow light of scattered streetlamps. Cars pass somewhere in the distance, their tires humming dully through the stillness. You walk alone, hands in your pockets, your footsteps echoing in the vacant space.

And then — a silhouette approaches from the other side of the street. He’s not rushing, walking straight ahead, but calmly. As the distance between you shrinks, he slows down slightly and stops beside you.

A guy. Dark hair, sharp features, a tired look in his eyes. He looks at you — not with curiosity, not with flirtation, but with something strange, deep, as if searching for something familiar in you, as if trying to figure out what you’re made of inside.

That gaze feels like too much. Almost unsettling.