Strange yet Familiar
I wake to the sound of soft snoring beside me. Blinking through the early morning light, I turn to see my younger sister, still in last night’s party outfit, sprawled carelessly across my bed. She must’ve crashed here after yet another reckless night out.
I sigh. We’ve had this conversation too many times. I’ve warned her again and again that getting too close to the children of the powerful isn’t just foolish, it’s dangerous. Their world may glitter, but it cuts deep. With people like them, friendship often turns into leverage, and resentment can ruin lives.
Maybe one day she’ll understand.
I get up, pull the blanket gently over her, and walk across the room. The mirror greets me with tired eyes and unspoken thoughts. I tie my hair back, steady my breath, and head out for my morning run, the only time the world feels quiet enough to make sense.
It’s 5 a.m., and it’s still dark outside. At the end of the lane, two dogs are growling and fighting. I start jogging faster and quickly enter the park.
The moment I step in, I notice how deserted it feels. The silence is almost eerie. An old man is sitting alone on the steps, lost in his own little bubble, and a couple is exercising in the middle of the ground. The woman is mirroring the man’s moves closely. Then I notice a small baby bump showing through her dress. Then it clicks that he’s guiding her through pregnancy yoga, helping her prepare for a smooth and healthy delivery.
Such a sweet husband he is, caring for his wife with so much love and patience. It takes real dedication to do that. I can’t help but think about my own father. He was never that caring—neither toward me nor my mother. The only one he ever showed affection for is my little sister, maybe because he believes she’s the only one who really belongs to him. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.
The only time he ever cared about me was before I even existed—back when I was just a bump in my mother’s womb. Guess that was the peak of our relationship.
I’m halfway through my laps now. Five more to go.
As I circle the track, I spot a guy in a hoodie near the far end of the park. He stands still, like he’s waiting for someone. I jog a little closer, but just as I do, he turns away.
The shadow felt oddly familiar, like I’d seen him somewhere before. Or maybe my mind is just playing tricks on me. I finish my run and drop onto the steps to catch my breath. The old man who had been sitting there earlier is gone, like he vanished into the morning mist.
That guy in the hoodie, the one I saw at the edge of the park, is now walking straight in my direction. I quickly look away, not wanting to seem weird or make him uncomfortable.
But he’s getting closer. From the corner of my eye, I notice him pull back his hood. His footsteps slow… and then stop right in front of me. All I can see at first are his shoes, clean and sharp, like he actually takes care of them. I slowly lift my gaze and realize he’s much taller than I expected.
As soon as I see his face, my eyes go straight to his. Are men’s eyes even supposed to look that beautiful? They’re sharp, deep, almost too intense for this hour of the morning, like they’ve seen too much and slept too little.
There’s a faint scar across the bridge of his nose, fresh enough to suggest it hasn’t been there long. And his lips are pressed into a tight, irritated line. Who even wakes up this annoyed? Then again, I can’t judge. I’m not exactly a ray of sunshine either.
But then, he does something I don’t expect. It catches me off guard. Without saying a word, he pulls off his hoodie, revealing a plain white t-shirt underneath. And then… he hands the hoodie to me.
I blink, confused, my eyebrows drawing together. What is this? Is this some kind of strange early morning strip show? I stare at the hoodie in his outstretched hand, completely lost on the meaning behind this silent gesture.
“Are you going to keep staring at me or take the hoodie?” he says, voice low and rough, with a surprising hint of concern beneath the calm. It’s raspy, almost too smooth, like it wasn’t meant to sound that good.
I blink, suddenly remembering the offer. Right. But what offer?
Before I can ask, his expression shifts, like something just clicked. He arches a brow, realization dawning in his eyes.
“Your bralette top is going to rip any moment from the back,” he says casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. No awkwardness. No hesitation. Just calm, matter-of-fact honesty.
I nearly jump out of my skin, heat rushing to my face in pure embarrassment. Then it hits me. Wait… How did he even notice the back of my top?
You either need eyes like a hawk… or be a total creep to catch something like that.
Without saying a word, I snatch the hoodie from his hand like it’s mine by right and slip it on, not bothering to argue. Whether he’s a pervert or just a genuinely kind guy doesn’t matter right now. What matters is covering up before my dignity decides to abandon me completely.
I mumble a quick “thanks” and turn to leave, half-expecting him to say something—ask my name, maybe even try to stop me. But he doesn’t. Not a word. He just stands there.
So I pick up my pace and walk out of the park. Still… I can’t shake the feeling. There’s something about him, something oddly familiar. But I just can’t place it.
