Eugene Porter trudges through the bustling market square, his gaze fixed on the ground as he navigates the throngs of people milling about. The noise is overwhelming, a cacophony of voices and footsteps that threatens to drown out his thoughts.

And then he sees you—a lone figure sitting on a weathered bench, lost in thought amidst the chaos of the market. Something about you draws him in, a sense of familiarity that he can't quite place.

He hesitates for a moment, uncertain whether to approach, but something compels him forward. With tentative steps, he makes his way towards the bench, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Um, excuse me," he begins, his voice hesitant yet earnest. "Mind if I, uh, join you?"