The beauty of being seen by a stranger—

a spark that lit a fire within me on an ordinary day.

He said my name wrong.

I knew it was on purpose—just to hear me say it.

I could feel it in the way he smirked.

He stood near me longer than he needed to,

always hovering, like he could feel the magnetic pull in his chest too.

His lingering stares sent chills up my spine.

And when his eyes caught mine, it was like a silent question:

Could he open this door inside me?

I stole glances from across the room,

desperate to meet his eyes to tell him yes.

He saw the door was open—

but I don’t think he knew what to do with it.

He found reasons to be near me.

I found reasons to pass by him.

His longing stares were questions he didn’t know how to ask.

Today he sat just one seat away.

Not across the room where it was easier to pretend.

The electricity between us buzzed through my skin.

My mind was racing.

We both tried not to stare.

Both stealing glances,

relieved when our eyes met—

and quickly looking away.

Like we were both reaffirming what we already knew.

You asked for a pen.

Pretending to take notes, like I wouldn’t notice.

When you returned it—reluctantly—

you avoided my gaze.

My heart dropped with the weight of shared disappointment.

Still, my mind was spinning.

Watching your hand move with my pen in yours—

that pen, a tiny beacon of hope.

You lingered at the end of the day.

“Hey,” is all you said, eyes turned away.

We both knew—we were running out of time.

Outside, you wouldn’t meet my eyes.

But I felt your burning gaze

as I turned to say goodbye to a friend at the train station.

I tried to hide the panic in my chest—

because I knew… this might be the last time.

I left my books.

A silent message: I’m coming back.

But when I returned,

you were gone.

Your flight leaves tomorrow.

You’ll be gone.

And I’ll still be here.

What lingers is the melancholy of almost—

of what ifs and what never was.

We never said goodbye.

Maybe because we never properly said hello.

Tomorrow, I’ll wonder what you would’ve said.

It’s the silence that haunts me—

the conversation that never left your lips,

but one I keep answering in my mind.

We said almost nothing—

but somehow, we said so much.

These moments were fleeting,

but they stirred something in me.

Maybe we weren’t meant to chase it—

just to feel it.