The Date above Their Heads

He Notices Patterns

I try not to think about him.

It doesn’t work.

That’s the problem with seeing something once, it doesn’t stay “once.” It settles. It repeats. It finds its way back into your mind when you’re not ready for it.

The city feels the same as always. Loud, indifferent, moving like nothing underneath it ever changes. People pass me in waves, none of them aware of anything beyond their immediate direction.

That’s how it should be.

That’s how I like it.

But today feels… slightly off.

Like something in the background has shifted.

I keep my head down as I walk, focusing on the rhythm of my steps instead of what’s around me. Left foot. Right foot. Distance. Control.

But I feel it before I see it.

A presence.

Not close enough to be threatening.

Not far enough to ignore.

Just… there.

I tighten my grip on my bag strap without meaning to.

I don’t look up.

I don’t need to.

Because I already know.

It’s him.

I continue walking anyway, adjusting my pace slightly. If I change direction, it will look obvious. If I stop, it will look worse. So I do what I always do.

Nothing.

But I feel him watching.

Not in a heavy way. Not intense. Just… aware.

Like he’s observing something he hasn’t fully understood yet.

That alone makes my chest tighten slightly.

People don’t observe me.

They pass me.

They forget me.

That’s the system.

That’s how I survive.

But he doesn’t move on.

I feel it when I pass a glass window, his reflection briefly in the background. Standing still. Head slightly tilted.

Looking at me.

Not like everyone else.

Like I’m a question he hasn’t answered yet.

I keep walking.

Faster now.

Not running.

Never running.

But leaving.

Because I don’t like being noticed.

Not like this.

Not persistently.

My fingers curl slightly again.

Stop thinking about it.

But I can’t.

Because I can feel it now, his attention is not random.

It has direction.

Pattern.

Intent.

And that’s dangerous.

People who notice patterns… start asking questions.

Questions lead to involvement.

And involvement leads to,

I cut the thought off immediately.

No.

Not again.

I turn down a quieter street, trying to break the line of sight. My heartbeat is steady, but slightly louder than usual in my ears.

I don’t look back.

I don’t check.

I just keep moving.

But I know something now.

He saw me differently.

And that’s the first problem.