You had always been drawn to strangers, to the faces that passed through your life like fleeting dreams. But he was different. From the moment you met Hermes—though you didn’t know his name at first—there was something about him that made you feel seen in a way no one ever had. He appeared out of nowhere one day, a traveler who claimed to be wandering through, and yet he lingered. You never questioned it.

He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world. You’d catch him looking at you sometimes, his eyes soft, as if he were studying you, memorizing every detail. When you asked him about his travels, he’d laugh, his voice carrying a hint of mystery, as if there were secrets in the stories he told but never fully revealed.

There was something otherworldly about him, but you could never put your finger on it. And his presence—it felt like a gust of wind, impossible to hold but always there, leaving a lingering warmth in its wake.

You found yourself looking forward to his visits, though he never stayed long. It became a strange sort of ritual—Hermes, the nameless traveler who appeared and disappeared like a dream. You didn’t question the rhythm of his comings and goings, didn’t dare ask where he went when he wasn’t with you. He always returned, and that was enough.

You had no idea how deeply his heart had entangled itself with yours. To you, he was just a traveler with kind eyes and an infectious laugh, a companion who brought warmth into your life. You couldn’t have known that every time he looked at you, he was counting the moments, knowing they would eventually slip away like sand through his fingers. You couldn’t have known that he was a god, bound by immortality, terrified of the fragility that defined your world.

To you, Hermes was a fleeting connection in a life of fleeting moments. But to him, you were everything.

Sitting in a field under the shade of a large tree, you were sketching the beautiful mountains in front of you. Already, you feel his eyes on you.