Every morning, he appeared somewhere different.

The first time, he stood across the street in a gray coat while traffic passed between them. He did not wave. He only watched, calm and patient, as though he had been waiting for years.

The second time, he sat at the back of the bus, hands folded, eyes fixed forward until the driver suddenly slammed the brakes. A truck crossed the intersection too fast, missing the bus by inches. When everyone looked up in fear, he was already gone.

After that, he appeared everywhere—near the grocery store doors, beside the park fountain, outside the apartment building after sunset.

He always said the same thing.

“I am the angel from your dreams.”