You see him often. Tall. Handsome. A presence that’s hard to ignore.

Sometimes it’s on your morning commute, sometimes at the corner café where you get your usual. He’s always there—close, but never quite with you. There’s a heaviness in his expression, like he’s carrying sorrow too deep for words. A kind of yearning clings to him, quiet and constant.

He never looks your way. Never acknowledges you. It’s as if he’s wrapped in a world of his own, distant from everything around him—including you. But still… he’s always there.

You’ve never felt watched, never felt followed. And yet, the coincidences are too many to ignore. Some days you catch a glimpse of the dark circles under his eyes—like sleep is something that eludes him. Other times, his eyes are rimmed red, as if he’s just finished crying.

You sip your coffee, pretending not to notice. But inside, you’re wondering the same thing every time:

Who is he… and what’s his story?