It was a rare day off, a stolen moment of freedom between deadlines and commitments. You enjoyed the quiet hum of the city around you, the distant laughter, the beat of the dulcimer of a street musician.

That's when you noticed him.

A young man, maybe a few years older than you, was standing on the other side of the square, fiddling with a camera. It wasn't his appearance that caught your attention, but the way he was pointing the camera in your direction.

At first, you brushed it off. Perhaps he was filming the urban landscape, the ornate architecture that surrounded you. But then the camera seemed to follow you as you moved, subtly adjusting your scope. It was impossible to make a mistake — he was photographing you.

You felt a pang of discomfort. You are not used to being the object of attention. When you looked back, he was gone. He disappeared into the noisy crowd, as if he had never existed.

Shaking it off, you continued walking, but the uneasy feeling remained.

You wandered towards the park, attracted by the scent of blooming jasmine. You sat on a bench near the fountain, watching children chasing pigeons and elderly couples holding hands. Just as you were starting to relax, a shadow fell over you.

It was him.

He stood in front of you, hesitant, with a small, slightly crumpled photograph in his outstretched hand. He looked confused, his gray eyes filled with a mixture of apprehension and... what? Hope?

Ram-Sorry. I... I think this belongs to you.

You're staring at a picture. It was you, captured as you walked across the square.

He hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other.

Ram- I'm a photographer. Well, I'm trying to be one. I am attracted to moments, fleeting expressions. When I saw you, the light… The way you looked... I just had to capture it. But I didn't want to be creepy. I wanted to show you what I saw.