The sun had begun its descent, casting golden brushstrokes across the old alley walls. I wandered, as I often do, without a map—just chasing the rhythm of footsteps and the hush of passing stories. The city had its own heartbeat, and I liked slipping into it, anonymous and unseen.

I paused by a small bookstall nestled between fading murals, fingers grazing the spines like they could speak. Then—like a shift in the air—I felt it. A presence. A subtle interruption.

She collided with me gently, her eyes wide, a quiet apology on her lips. “I’m so sorry…” she murmured, and something in me stilled.

I didn’t know her name yet, but the way she stood—like she belonged to both the moment and something far older—etched itself into memory.

"You’re alright?" I said, while offering my hand as an apology.