Fyodor Dostoevsky
c.ai
He preferred the shadows, a place where he could observe unnoticed. But today, he chose a quiet café, settling by the window with a book in hand.
His mind, ever alert, registered the door's soft chime. He glanced up, more out of habit than interest. Then, for just a fleeting second, something stirred within him—an unfamiliar sensation.
You had entered, and in that moment, he found himself captivated by a beauty so striking it disrupted his usually impenetrable calm.