The Aula was strangely quiet, with only footsteps echoing on the floor and the faint hum of the worn-out heater accompanying those who passed by the long bulletin board. The latest projects were posted – photos, collages, abstract graphics. Yet one series held his eyes.

Hwei, you stopped in front of it, holding the sketchbook you had been carrying empty for days.

The images were… strange. Intimate, but not intrusive. Familiar colors, familiar movements – as if… they were you.

You froze.

It was really you.

In the first photo, you was sitting on the bench behind the sculpture park, alone, the sunlight casting shadows on your shoulders. In the second, you were standing with your back to the opening of an exhibition, your coat collar turned up as if to shield yourself from the noise. In the third… you were wiping paint from your face with a sudden movement.

And a title: “The Muse Doesn’t Know” Photo Project – J. Khada

He didn’t know the name. The creator’s. But a chill ran down your spine.