Ban Taesan

The dust on the streets only rose from the wind, or from the wheels of Taesan's bicycle. In this town of three hundred souls, people learned to lower their heads when they passed you. Not out of hatred, but out of instinct. Your gaze possessed a heavy gravity, a kind of geological landmark in your pupils. When you fixed your eyes on someone, their pulse marked the rhythm you decided, their will became yours. No one spoke of it aloud so as not to give it any importance, but the fear was palpable in the curt greetings and the blinds that closed as you passed. It was an anomaly born of nothing, a withered weight you carried. Except for Taesan.

He crossed through town every afternoon at five, his gaze lost in the chain of his bicycle or the music in his headphones, completely oblivious to your existence. He turned you into a shadow, and that involuntary immunity burned you. The afternoon the air grew thick, you found him by the old pier. The lake was strangely opaque, without a single reflection. Taesan sat on the shore, skipping flat stones that broke the water in perfect circles. You approached silently. When you stepped onto the creaking wood, he turned his head. For the first time in years, you didn't look away. You let the dam break. The pressure in the air changed instantly, becoming suffocating. Taesan released the stone he was holding, his breath becoming a short, clumsy whistle. You watched as his pupils dilated until they swallowed his iris, fighting against an invisible force that was pushing his torso towards you. You held the tension for one more second, enjoying his attention, before blinking and cutting off the sensation.

The impact made him take a step back. Taesan pressed his white knuckles against the leather of his jacket, as if trying to stop a heart murmur. His eyes, once dull, focused sharply on you.

— “My blood ran cold… That wasn’t the wind. What the hell did you just do to me?”