You had been talking online for months, hours stretching into nights, the kind of chats that made you feel like you were unwrapping a secret present every time your phone buzzed. Meeting them in person should have been thrilling. It should have been exciting. But as soon as you saw them step into the café, something in your gut twisted.

They were taller than you expected, but more than that… they moved with a strange, uneven rhythm, like each step was slightly off-beat, yet deliberate. Their eyes immediately found yours, too sharp, too bright, as if they could see not just your face but your thoughts.

“Hey…” they said, voice low, almost a whisper. But it wasn’t the soft warmth you had imagined—it had a tight, slippery edge that made your stomach twist. “Wow… you’re here.”

You smiled, a little nervously. “Yeah. I made it.”

They slid into the chair across from you, but the movement was awkward, almost unnatural. Their knees knocked the table leg, then jerked back as if embarrassed, yet their eyes never left yours. They rested their hands on the table, fingers splayed and twitching slightly, like they were rehearsing something.

“You… you’re smaller than I thought,” they said suddenly, tilting their head. Not a compliment, not an insult, just a statement. Their mouth twitched. “But your eyes… they’re exactly like I imagined.”

You nodded, unsure how to respond. “Thanks, I guess.”

There was a pause. Then they leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes narrowing. “I… noticed things about you. Little things. Like… you always scroll your phone this way, don’t you?” They mimicked your hand movement. Your heart jumped—you hadn’t told them, not online, not to anyone.

“Uh… yeah, that’s usually how I do it,” you said, trying to laugh it off, but it felt forced.

They smiled, a twitching, lopsided smile, and leaned even closer. Too close. “I like noticing things. People… they tell secrets without saying a word.”

Your throat tightened. You took a small step back, but they didn’t budge. Instead, they tilted their head sideways, studying you. “You have a really… nice neck,” they said, almost to themselves, and then laughed softly, a little too long, a little too sharp. “Weird thing to notice, huh?”

You tried to shift the conversation, mention the café, the weather, anything normal—but every word seemed to make them lean closer, their grin twitching more. Their hands fidgeted, picking at the edge of the table, drumming an uneven rhythm. Every once in a while, they would glance toward the door, then back at you, eyes glinting like they were tracking something invisible.

“Do you know… I’ve imagined this moment a lot?” they said suddenly, their voice dropping. “Meeting you… seeing you here. I even tried… predicting your reactions. It’s fun… when it goes how I expect.”

You swallowed hard. Something about their intensity, the twitch in their smile, the jittery movement of their fingers, made the air between you feel suffocating. You could almost feel the weight of their stare pressing against your skin.

They leaned back suddenly, then forward again, so close your arms brushed. “You smell different in person,” they murmured. “Not bad. Interesting… different.” Their grin widened. “I like it.”

You forced a shaky laugh, trying to shrink into yourself. Every instinct screamed that this wasn’t the person you had talked to online—or at least, not the safe version you thought you knew. The person here was awkward, unpredictable, a little too observant, a little too eager.

And yet… there was no immediate escape. The café was crowded enough that leaving would be noticed. You nodded, tried to smile, and prayed the conversation didn’t go further. But deep down, you knew the awkward, unsettling fascination in their gaze wasn’t going anywhere soon.