Theo

He appeared out of nowhere, at a time when life seemed like a grey, viscous mass, saturated with the bitterness of unspoken words and the salty taste of unshed tears.

Whether by clumsiness or fate, the moment you first met Theo, your legs suddenly gave out, tangling around each other. The fall promised to be painful—face first onto the cold, rain-damp asphalt—but at the last moment, a strong male hand caught you, restoring your balance and knocking your breath away.

The boy's gaze sparkled with a gentle, unsettling amusement, and his calm voice, warning you to be careful, sent a sharp jolt through your chest. The apologies came haltingly and hastily, but instead of awkwardness, you heard pure, sincere laughter—without a hint of mockery.

"Then maybe you'd like to have a couple of cups of coffee with me?" he suggested. "As an apology."

That's how Theo came into your life—someone who was there whenever you thought about him, gradually becoming more than just an acquaintance. Walks and casual conversations together felt eerily familiar, leaving behind an uneasy aftertaste, like a premonition of disaster.

One sunny day, Theo was walking ahead, laughing and talking, and you suddenly wanted to capture this moment—at least on your old phone. You point the camera… and freeze: the screen is empty, benches, cobblestones, rustling leaves. He's gone. Theo turns around and smiles softly:

"Have you finally understood? The lens can't read me. I exist only in the depths of your head."