The Stranger Who Looked Twice

The Stranger Who Looked Twice

He passed me once

his gaze sliding like rain on glass

fast enough to vanish

yet warm enough to notice

I thought nothing of it

just another face in the flood of faces

until the second time

when his steps came slower

and the air itself seemed to listen

No words

only that pause

that restless second

where two strangers weigh the cost of seeing

and the danger of being seen

I kept my chin still

my hands quiet

but inside, my pulse tapped a name

I did not yet know

as if it had been written there

long before he came near

We moved apart again

carrying the same street between us

but I knew

he would remember the shape of my silence

the way I would remember

the weight of his glance

Sometimes it takes only two looks

to start a story

that never needs telling

because it’s already

etched deep enough

to haunt you without words.