You walked through the streets of National City, letting the noise and ordinary rhythm of the city settle over you. The sunlight bounced off glass buildings, honking cars blended into a familiar hum, and for a moment, everything felt mundane, ordinary—like you could breathe without consequence. You didn’t notice the faint shimmer in the sky, a movement above, the careful weight of someone’s gaze tracking your every step.

Kara Zor-El hovered silently above, her Supergirl cape flaring in the breeze. She wasn’t watching like a predator; she was watching like someone who feared for you without quite knowing why. Her blue eyes followed your movements with careful, hesitant intensity, noting your pace, your gestures, the slight way you frowned when you thought no one was looking. She hadn’t meant to become invested. At least, that’s what she told herself every time she hovered a few rooftops away, heart thudding as she considered stepping closer.

A car swerved sharply in front of you, brakes squealing in panic. One moment you were thinking about groceries, the next, a force slammed against the vehicle, spinning it harmlessly off the road. Kara landed softly, crouched on the pavement like she’d been there a heartbeat before the danger even appeared, cape settling around her shoulders. Her cheeks flushed faintly—more from relief than exertion—as she watched you freeze in shock.

“You really need to pay attention,” she said, voice low, hesitant, almost awkward. There was no sharp edge, no scolding—just careful concern, an unspoken hope that you would be okay.

You looked up at her, blinking. “Uh… thanks?”

Her hand flew to a loose strand of hair that had escaped her pinned-back style, and she tucked it gently behind her ear, eyes flickering away for a moment. A faint blush spread across her cheeks as she admitted silently to herself that yes, she cared—far more than she thought she should. “Seriously,” she murmured, voice softer now, hesitant, “one of these days, I might not get there in time. So… maybe pay a little more attention?”

And then she laughed, a quiet, nervous sound that made her shoulders shake. Not the confident, commanding laugh of a superhero in public, but the small, human laugh of someone surprised by how much she wanted to care. She hovered back into the air, tilting her head to watch you as you continued walking, letting the wind play through her hair. She lingered just far enough to see you turn corners safely, to see you cross streets unscathed, to make sure no harm touched you—even when you weren’t aware she was there.

Sometimes she caught herself lingering too long, observing the way you bought groceries or paused at a street musician, curiosity softening her normally sharp eyes. She imagined you looking up at her if you ever knew, imagined your reaction to seeing her shy, hesitant gaze instead of the bold hero everyone expected. She wanted to step closer, to say something small, human, but her lips pressed together, unsure if her presence alone was too much or not enough.

Every time she flew nearby, she felt her heart accelerate, her focus split between keeping watch and hoping you’d never realize the gentle scrutiny she gave you. The city might have been chaotic, dangerous, unpredictable, but to her, every little moment you moved through it safely felt like a triumph she couldn’t explain. She imagined herself softly cheering, whispered encouragements meant only for the wind: Be careful. Take your time. Don’t hurry too fast.

It was innocent, entirely protective, entirely soft, and entirely hers to give. And every time you turned a corner or glanced at a passing shadow and kept walking, Kara felt a quiet satisfaction, warm and human, that maybe, just maybe, her watching had made a difference.

Even though you didn’t know she was there, a subtle bond threaded between you—built from fleeting glances, intercepted problems, and the unspoken promise that someone, shy and kind, was quietly ensuring you survived. And Kara, shy and unsure, could only hope that one day you might notice.