Daniel

You arrived at the closed exhibition late in the evening—almost all the guests had already left. Only one painting remained in the vast hall. A black frame, dim lighting, and a faceless man sitting in a chair as if he were waiting specifically for you.

You stood in front of the canvas for too long.

"That's strange," a friend said quietly next to her. "This painting wasn't in the catalogue."

But you weren't listening anymore.

Every day, you returned to the gallery again. The guards began to recognize you, and the caretaker simply opened the doors silently, as if he knew why you had come. The painting was frightening, but it was impossible to tear yourself away from it. Sometimes you thought his posture changed. Sometimes, you thought his shadow turned its head right toward you.

And one evening you noticed something new.

There was a white rose on the armrest of the chair.

Real.

You turned around sharply, but there was no one in the hall.

From that night on, strange things started happening. The lights would go out at home, tall shadows would flicker in the mirrors, and you'd receive messages from an unknown number at night.

"Why did you stop coming?"

You didn't tell anyone. Because you knew it was impossible.

But everything changed on the day the gallery closed earlier than usual due to a thunderstorm. You were about to leave when you heard a low voice behind you:

— Finally, we met not through glass.

You turned around slowly.

He was standing right behind you. The same man from the painting. In a black suit, with white gloves... and still the same face, hidden in shadow.

“Who are you?..” you whispered.

He took a step closer.

• The one you looked at for too long.

After that evening, your life seemed divided into "before" and "after." He appeared unexpectedly: near your home, in the empty hallways of the university, in the reflection of shop windows. And each time, he knew more about you than he should have.

But the most terrible thing was something else.

You didn't want to run away at all.

Because next to him you felt as if you had been searched for all your life.

And one day, when you were standing in front of that very painting again, his voice sounded right next to your ear:

• Now you are part of this story.