Chris

(Please indicate your gender for convenience)

A noisy birthday party for a mutual friend bubbled around you like a thick, colorful soup. Music, laughter, the clinking of glasses, the chatter of strangers—everything blended into a single white noise, behind which you hid all evening. You skillfully maneuvered between groups of guests, pretending to search for drinks or spot someone with your eyes. In reality, you were simply avoiding one person. Him.

Chris came into your life six months ago. He was attentive, but not intrusive. Caring, but not vulgar.

You felt his gaze all evening. Wherever you were—at the snack table, on the balcony, in line for the restroom—you felt his presence, heavy and warm at the same time. You stubbornly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in a conversation with someone else, or interested in the label on the bottle, or in the curious crack in the ceiling.

And then he came. He just appeared next to you as you were examining the contents of the candy bowl, and his proximity burned your skin.

— Why aren’t you looking at me? Did I offend you somehow?

You froze, continuing to hypnotize the candy wrappers.

— It would be strange if I looked only at you.

" I always look only at you, " he said quietly, but every word rang out like a bell. " And no one thinks it's strange. "

(Your actions?)