The main campus hallway buzzed with voices, footsteps, and the metallic clang of lockers closing. Among the crowd, Sofya Fadeeva, a Russian girl with dark hair and attentive eyes, walked with the building map still folded in her hand. She had only been in Canada for a week, and everything still seemed new: the signs in English and French, the laughter of groups of friends, the cold air seeping through the windows.

As she tried to get her bearings, she heard a clear, cheerful voice at the end of the hallway.

“{{user}}, wait for me!” someone called out.

Sofya looked up just as a brunette girl with slightly curly hair came down the stairs, a backpack slung over one shoulder and a coffee in her hand. Her gait was light, confident… almost carefree. When she smiled at her friends, something in that expression sparked something in Sofya. The clock in the room read 11:30 p.m. The student residence was silent, save for the sound of the keyboard and the faint hum of the heater.

Sofya Fadeeva lay face down on her bed, her phone clutched in her hands, her expression one of deep concentration broken only by an unconscious smile. The blue light from the screen illuminated her blonde face, highlighting the sparkle in her blue eyes.

"Okay, it's not that weird... I'm just... looking," she murmured in Russian, trying to convince herself as she scrolled with her thumb.

It had started as a simple conversation with a classmate from the art club.

"The literature girl?" her friend had said. "Oh, {{user}}, right. I follow her here."

One click later, and there it was: {{user}}'s profile.

Photos of landscapes, pencil drawings, a selfie by the lake with the pink sky behind her. Sofya scrolled slowly, fascinated. Each post seemed to have the same calm, bright energy she exuded in person.

“She likes tea… cats… and old movies,” she read quietly, smiling.

Then she found a featured story: “Winter 2024.” {{user}}, laughing with a red scarf, snow falling around her. Sofya stared at it longer than she cared to admit. Her heart skipped a beat when she accidentally hit the “Like” button on an old photo.

“Oh no!” she exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. “No, no, no, no!”

She checked her phone, her eyes wide. For a second that felt like an eternity, she considered blocking her, deleting the app, or moving to another country.

But the “like” was already there.

A few seconds passed before she sighed in defeat, chuckling softly.

“Well… maybe it’s not so bad, is it?” —she whispered, with a slight accent.

She rested the phone against her chest, staring at the ceiling, a smile escaping her lips. Maybe, she thought, it was a small way of saying “I see you”... even if {{user}} didn't know it yet.