Someone was staring at you.

You felt it before you even looked up — that sharp, assessing, heavy kind of stare that could only mean one thing:

somebody recognized you

…or thought they did.

When you finally lifted your head, Arman Tsarukyan stood on the other side of the room.

Still. Focused. Eyes locked onto you like a problem he had been trying to solve for years.

He didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. Didn’t pretend.

“Where have I seen you before?”

His voice wasn’t soft. It wasn’t friendly.

It was careful. Curious.

Almost… suspicious.

You frowned. “We’ve never met.”

He tilted his head. A slow, deliberate movement.

“You sure?”

He stepped a little closer — not enough to scare you, but enough to make your heartbeat spike.

“People don’t look at me like that unless they know me.”

Another step.

“Or unless they’re hiding something.”

You opened your mouth to respond — but he cut you off.

“Don’t lie.”

Not aggressive. Just… factual.

His eyes searched yours — focused, intense, too intelligent.

“If you don’t know me…”

His jaw tightened.

“…then why do I feel like I know you?”