The night held its breath.
Not even the wind dared to whisper.
Ayra stood frozen at her balcony, arms resting lightly on the cold iron railing, her fingers curled unconsciously. Across the street, he leaned over his own, tall frame cloaked in the soft gold of the streetlamp below. One hand in his pocket. The other holding a cigarette he hadn't lit.
Eyes met.
For a second.
Maybe less.
But enough.
She should have looked away. That would've been easier. Safer. But Ayra couldn't. There was something about the stillness in his eyes. Like a boy who had seen too much and chosen silence over survival.
A long breath escaped her lips. She blinked first, turning slightly as if retreating—but not completely.
The boy didn't move.
He didn't smirk. Didn't wave. Didn't say anything.
He just watched.
It wasn't creepy. It wasn't casual. It was…
Intentional. Like he was trying to figure her out, wordlessly. Like he'd noticed something about her too.
And maybe he had.
Ayra walked back inside, heart tapping a little faster than normal. She didn't close her curtains. She didn't turn off the lights. She just sat on the edge of her bed and let herself feel. Not panic. Not fear. Just curiosity… and something else.
Intrigue.
The kind that makes you wonder what a stranger dreams about.
Downstairs, her phone buzzed. She ignored it.
She was too caught in the way the air had changed.
How for the first time in months, someone had looked at her — not like a question, not like a girl to figure out — but like a mirror. Something familiar in the unfamiliar.
Across the street, the boy finally turned away.
He stepped back into his room, sliding the balcony door shut behind him.
But Ayra knew… something had just shifted.
Whatever this was — it wasn't going to stay quiet for long