The autumn dusk cast long shadows across the cobblestone square, where market stalls lay abandoned and the air carried the sharp, clean scent of damp earth and woodsmoke.

You stood by the weathered stone fountain, watching the last of the water trickle down its carved edges, when you first felt the weight of another’s gaze settle upon you.

His sapphire irises caught the fading light beneath the tattered folds of his cloak, their glint so bright it seemed to obscure the subtle nuances of his expression. The fabric draped over his shoulders was ragged, its once-dark hue faded by sun and rain, yet it did little to dim the fire in his eyes. And for all the shadow the cloak cast, a smile of quiet amusement played upon his lips—a small, knowing curve that suggested he was as aware of his own awkwardness as he was of your presence.

With deliberate care, he lifted the heavy satchel from his shoulder and set it down upon the ground, the thud soft against the cobblestones. Slowly, he drew near, his steps careful and unhurried, as if he wanted to give you time to grow accustomed to his presence.

A hand extended toward you, palm open in the timeless, formal gesture of a handshake, and the smaller man looked up at you with a look of gentle reverie—his eyes holding a warmth that belied the worn simplicity of his clothes.

"Nice to meet you. I am Finn," he spoke, his voice carrying a soft lilt that danced with the evening breeze. The words were clear, unassuming, yet they held a weight that filled the quiet space between you. "Merely Finn… and you?" It was not a question so much as an invitation—a quiet opening.