It was the second time I noticed him looking at me. Not just a passing glance, but something more—something intentional. His gaze lingered long enough for me to feel the weight of it, like a silent message trying to cross the space between us.
This time, I didn't look away.
I held his gaze, unsure of what I was expecting to find in those eyes, but too curious to break the connection. My heart was pounding in my chest, faster than it had any right to be over a simple look. But this wasn't just a look. It was something else—something I didn't yet understand but felt in the very core of my being.
He was, without a doubt, the most handsome guy I had ever seen. But it wasn't just his looks that drew me in. There was something about him—an air of quiet confidence wrapped in the simplest of appearances. He wore no flashy clothes, no jewelry, no loud colors to catch attention. Just a plain, well-fitted shirt and jeans, and those understated glasses that somehow made him even more captivating. He didn't need anything more. His simplicity was his charm.
He seemed... real. Genuine. Like he belonged to a different kind of world than the one most people showed on the surface. And that made me want to know more about him. Who was he beneath that calm exterior? What stories lived behind those thoughtful eyes?
I couldn't stop looking. Seconds stretched into what felt like moments suspended in time. My thoughts spiraled, and in the quiet of my mind, I began to wonder—could this be something? Could this be the start of something more?
But then, like a sudden gust of wind extinguishing a fragile flame, a doubt crept into my thoughts.
What if… he wasn't looking at me at all?
The question struck me like a cold wave. My friend, who stood beside me, was dazzling in her own way—confident, radiant, and beautiful in that effortless, magnetic way that turned heads wherever she went. She was the kind of girl people noticed. I had always admired her, even envied her, silently and secretly.
What if he was looking at her?
The thought twisted in my chest. It shouldn't have mattered, but it did. It mattered so much that I felt a sting behind my eyes and a crack in the fragile shell of hope I had just begun to build.
Was I imagining everything? Was I projecting my own feelings onto a stranger who didn't even see me? Or was there something real in the way his eyes met mine—not once, but twice?
I felt like I was unraveling. One part of me wanted to believe in the possibility of something special, something written in the stars. But the other part—the more cautious, bruised part—was already preparing for disappointment.
I didn't know what was true.
Was this fate? A spark waiting to ignite?
Or was it just another illusion, another fleeting moment that I had clung to too tightly?
I stood there, trying to smile, trying to keep my thoughts from showing on my face, while inside I felt like I was quietly falling apart.
I didn't have the answer then. I still don't.
All I knew in that moment was that my heart had spoken—loudly, hopefully, vulnerably—and now, it was waiting in silence for an answer it wasn't sure would ever come.
Is it him… or not ?