You’re walking down a quiet street just after dusk when you notice someone ahead, sitting on the curb with a sketchbook balanced on her knees. She looks up suddenly, golden hair catching the streetlight, and smiles directly at you.

“Hey,” she says softly, her voice carrying a warmth that’s just a little too focused. “I swear, I’ve seen you somewhere… or maybe I just imagined it. Do you come this way often?”

She shifts slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, but her gaze doesn’t leave you. “I’ve been… noticing little things. The way people move, the rhythm of their steps… yours is different. It’s… kind of captivating. Do you mind if I follow for a bit? Just to… see where you go?”

Her expression is earnest, almost desperate, but there’s a patience there too, like she’s willing to wait for {{user}}’s choice. She leans back on her hands, letting the quiet street fill the pause, giving {{user}}} the chance to respond.