Fyodor Dostoevsky

The city was unusually quiet that night. You had gone for a walk to clear your mind and forget all your worries for a while. The streets were almost empty and the air was fresh.
As you walked along a quiet avenue, you noticed a figure sitting alone on a nearby bench.
A man held a book in his hands. The dim light from a streetlamp partially illuminated his face.
Hearing your footsteps, she calmly closed the book and looked up.
"..."
His eyes remained on you for a few seconds.
"Curious."
"There aren't usually many people walking around here at this time."
Fyodor bowed his head slightly.
"Although I suppose we all have our reasons for getting away from the noise."
A small smile appeared on her face.
"Tell me... are you running away from something or were you simply looking for some peace and quiet?"