The notification came before I fully opened my eyes.
I didn't rush to check it.
I already knew who it would be.
When I finally picked up my phone, his name was there.
Marcos.
One message.
Lunch?
Simple. Direct. No unnecessary words.
I stared at it for a moment, then sat up slowly.
There was no reason to hesitate.
I typed back:
Fine.
No emoji. No extra line. No indication of enthusiasm.
Just acceptance.
I set the phone aside and got up.
The house felt smaller in the morning.
Not physically. Just… tighter.
I stepped into the kitchen and found my mother already there, standing near the counter with a cup in her hand. Her hair was slightly undone, her expression tired in the way that sleep couldn't fix.
She glanced at me.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then—
"You're awake early."
Her voice was flat. Not warm. Not harsh either. Just… there.
"I didn't sleep late," I replied, pouring myself a glass of water.
She watched me for a moment longer than necessary.
"You left last night."
It wasn't a question.
I took a sip.
"Yes."
Another pause.
"You could at least tell someone before disappearing."
I set the glass down gently.
"Would it have changed anything?"
She didn't answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
Her grip tightened slightly around her cup.
"You're becoming harder to read," she said quietly.
I looked at her then.
"Am I?"
"Yes."
A faint, tired exhale left her.
"That's not a good thing, Lune."
I tilted my head slightly.
"Depends on who's trying to read me."
Silence again.
She looked away first.
As always.
"I don't have the energy for this today," she muttered, taking a sip from her cup.
"Then don't."
My tone was calm. Neutral.
Not defiant.
Just factual.
She frowned slightly but didn't continue.
I grabbed my jacket.
"Where are you going?"
Her voice came sharper this time.
"Out."
"With who?"
A pause.
"…Someone."
She watched me closely now.
"Be careful."
I opened the door.
"I always am."
The door closed behind me with a soft click.
Outside, the air was the same as yesterday. Familiar. Unchanging.
And that was the only kind of consistency that ever made sense.
The café was moderately busy when I arrived.
Not loud enough to be overwhelming. Not quiet enough to feel empty.
Balanced.
Marcos was already there, sitting near the window, glancing at his phone. When he noticed me, he looked up immediately.
"You came," he said, standing slightly.
I approached the table.
"You asked."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Fair."
We sat.
There was a short silence as a waiter approached, took our order, and left.
After that, the quiet settled in naturally.
Not awkward.
Just present.
Marcos leaned back slightly in his chair, studying me for a moment.
"You don't really speak much, do you?"
I looked at him.
"I speak when necessary."
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Or when you feel like it."
"Those two are often the same thing."
He let out a small breath, almost a laugh.
"You always answer like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you've already thought five steps ahead."
I didn't respond immediately.
Then—
"I don't think ahead."
A pause.
"I observe."
He nodded slowly, as if trying to understand.
"You're hard to read," he said.
"Most people are," I replied.
He tilted his head slightly.
"No… not like this."
Silence followed.
Our drinks arrived first.
Then the food.
For a while, we ate without speaking.
Not because there was nothing to say.
But because nothing needed to be said.
At some point, Marcos broke the silence again.
"So… are you introverted?"
The question was casual. Curiosity, not judgment.
I set my fork down gently.
"No."
He blinked slightly.
"You don't seem very extroverted either."
"I'm neither."
That made him pause.
"Then what are you?"
I looked at him calmly.
"People aren't defined by those labels."
He frowned slightly.
"How so?"
I leaned back a little in my chair, resting one hand lightly on the table.
"People don't behave based on fixed categories," I said.
"They adapt."
A pause.
"The same person can appear quiet with one individual and completely open with another."
He listened without interrupting.
"Not because their personality changes," I continued.
"But because their perception of the person in front of them changes."
I held his gaze.
"When someone believes they are in the presence of someone they consider superior—intellectually, socially, emotionally—they tend to withdraw."
A slight pause.
"And when they feel they hold the upper hand, they become more expressive. More comfortable."
Marcos didn't speak.
"So it's not introversion or extroversion," I said calmly.
"It's perception of power."
Silence lingered for a moment.
"Power speaks," I added softly.
"Not people."
He watched me closely now.
"And you?" he asked.
I didn't hesitate.
"I only speak when it's needed."
Another pause.
Then he leaned back slightly, exhaling.
"I've never thought about it like that."
I nodded once.
"Most people don't."
He looked at me for a second longer than usual.
There was something in his expression now.
Not confusion.
Not disagreement.
Just… realization.
After finishing our meal, Marcos stood up.
"I'll go pay."
I gave a small nod.
"Don't take long."
He smirked slightly.
"I won't."
He walked toward the counter.
I remained seated near the window.
For a brief moment, I looked outside.
And that's when I saw it.
A cat.
Sitting just outside the café entrance.
Still.
Watching.
I didn't move immediately.
My eyes shifted toward it slowly.
Then I stood up and walked closer to it.
It sat down calmly, as if it had always been there.
I turned slightly toward it.
"Hello, little kitty."
The cat blinked.
I lowered myself into a slight crouch in front of it.
Close enough.
Not touching.
Just observing.
"Tell me something," I murmured.
The cat didn't respond.
Of course it didn't.
"Humans," I continued softly, "are always so certain about what they feel."
A pause.
"Do you think he'll be different?"
The cat tilted its head slightly.
I watched it carefully.
"How do you think he'd act… if he falls in love?"
"I hope he is worth investing in… and that he doesn't repeat the same patterns Raymon did. I'd like to see how he turns out… it might make things less predictable."
Another pause.
Then I exhaled slowly.
"Or maybe it's the same every time."
My gaze sharpened slightly.
"They think they're choosing it."
A faint, almost invisible smile formed.
"But they react the same way."
I traced a small line in the air with my finger, absentminded.
"Predictable."
Another pause.
Then quietly—
"Strangely easy to understand… and yet completely not."
I leaned back slightly on my heels.
"No one really understands anyone."
My voice softened.
"Not fully."
The cat remained still.
Listening.
Or not.
It didn't matter.
"I just hope marcos will be worth putting in effort and react differently from raymon"
I tilted my head.
"Do you think humans are… foolish?"
A pause.
"No," I murmured, answering my own question.
"They're just limited."
Then, after a beat—
"Which makes them… interesting."
Footsteps approached from behind.
"Who are you talking to?"
Marcos' voice.
I turned my head slightly.
"Just thinking out loud."
He stepped closer, looking around.
But the cat was already gone
Obviously it did
He frowned slightly.
"I saw you talking to something."
I brushed it off lightly.
"You probably imagined it."
He didn't look convinced.
But he didn't push further.
His gaze returned to me instead.
"…you do that sometimes, don't you?"
"Do what?"
"Talk like someone's listening."
I met his eyes.
"Someone always is."
A quiet tension passed between us.
Then I turned slightly, stepping back onto the main path.
"Let's go."
He followed.
We walked together for a while in silence.
This time, it felt different.
Not distant.
Not neutral.
Just… steady.
At one point, he glanced at me.
"You seem more… relaxed today."
I looked ahead.
"Do I?"
"Yeah."
A pause.
"Why?"
I thought for a moment.
Then replied simply—
"Because I'm not trying."
He didn't respond immediately.
But I felt it.
The shift in his attention.
The way his presence leaned slightly closer without moving.
Attachment grows in moments like that.
Unnoticed.
Unchallenged.
Allowed.
We reached the end of the street.
I stopped.
He did too.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked at me, something unspoken sitting behind his eyes.
"You're hard to figure out," he said quietly.
I held his gaze.
"No one is meant to figure me out."
A pause.
Then softer—
"They're only meant to experience me."
Silence followed.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… present.
I stepped back slightly.
"See you."
He nodded.
"I'll text you."
I turned and walked away.
Without looking back.
Because looking back… was never part of the plan.
And plans only work when you don't let emotions interfere.