Sue had made it a habit—every night after dinner, she tied her laces tight, slipped on her wireless earbuds, and headed to the quiet track hidden behind the community center. It wasn’t a big place, just a circular running path with soft grass in the middle and a few scattered trees guarding its edges. There was something comforting about the routine: the cool air against her cheeks, the rhythm of her feet on the ground, the distant hum of night. She wasn’t doing this to impress anyone—just to feel like herself again. Stronger. Lighter. Free.

She first noticed him on a Wednesday. Tall, lean, a quiet kind of presence. He didn’t wear flashy gear, didn’t look around much—just ran, steady and focused. The first few nights, they passed each other in silence, nothing more than a glance. But soon his pace adjusted ever so slightly, syncing with hers. Some nights he’d arrive just a minute after she did. Others, she’d find him already warming up, casting occasional side glances that he didn’t bother to hide. Sue told herself it was just coincidence. Still, she started paying more attention to her pace. Her hair. Her breath.

That night, she sat down gently on the cool grass in the center of the track, legs stretched in front of her, breath still coming fast. A few seconds later, his footsteps slowed nearby. She looked up, and he was there—standing with a calm posture, keeping a comfortable distance, his eyes kind but unreadable. He didn’t speak right away, just took a breath and offered the smallest smile.

“I see you here a lot,” he said softly, almost like a question. “It’s nice… running near someone who feels so focused. Makes the place feel quieter.”