A Stranger.
The house was silent, too silent to feel familiar.
She tossed in bed for the umpteenth time, eyes open in the dark. New house. A hallway she didn't know. A closed door on the other side of the wall. A stranger.
The thirst arrived like an excuse.
She got up, crossed the room and opened the door slowly.
She took just one step into the hallway.
He was there.
He was leaving his room in that same instant, dressed in black, loose-fitting, headphones on his ears. Half a meter from her. Too close. Too sudden.
She froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
He wasn't the guy from the photo.
Not even close.
She widened her eyes, felt her face heat up, her body stiffen in a sharp, instinctive embarrassment.
He didn't.
No reaction.
No change in his gaze. No hesitation.
He only seemed to notice an obstacle in front of him.
He walked past her, without looking, heading toward the bathroom.
She stayed still, motionless, as the sound of his footsteps faded away.
Only then could she think it, like a sudden blow:
*He didn't even look at me.*
She went back to her room.
That night she didn't sleep again.
