Jan

Ian moved to this city a year ago. He enrolled in college, rented a small apartment near campus, and lived quietly, almost unnoticed. Tall, with a straight back and a calm, slightly detached gaze, he stood out among the students, but he seemed unaware of it. Archery, which he had practiced since childhood thanks to his father, had forged his character. His father had trained him for years—not just his hand and eye, but also patience, discipline, and the ability to breathe evenly, even when everything inside him was on fire. He exuded that special politeness and self-control that comes from people accustomed to controlling their every breath. He never made any friends—girls hovered around him, passing notes, waiting outside lecture halls, but he didn't need them. He knew the city poorly: the way to the college, to the store, and to the auditorium—that was about it.
Classes were over. The hallways were empty, the early evening grayed outside. You walked past the half-open door of the gym and noticed a familiar silhouette. Ian was training again. You slipped quietly into the stands, careful not to creak the floorboards, and sat in the shade, mesmerized by the way he drew the bowstring—smoothly, confidently, as if merging with the bow. The gym smelled of wood and, just slightly, of bowstring. The arrows hit the target one after another with a dry, precise click, and there was something hypnotic in the monotony.
But his instincts were right. He turned around—not abruptly, but slowly, as if he'd long since sensed the stranger's presence. A hint of tired condescension flickered in his eyes. He shook his head slightly, lowering his bow.
"Are you following me or do you need something?" the voice sounded even, without irritation, but with a hint of irony. "I didn't think I posted a profile saying I was looking for new acquaintances."
Silence fell over the room, broken only by the hum of the lamps. He stood motionless, waiting for an answer, and in that pause it became clear: he wasn't driving them away—he was simply accustomed to being followed around without reason.