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?"