You don’t notice him at first — just another person drifting through the background chatter, one of those faces you assume must be connected to the host in some way. He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, half-listening to a story someone’s telling while fiddling with the rim of a plastic cup in his hands. There’s a bookish quality to him, the kind of posture that says he’d rather be in a quieter space, but he’s still here, still present.

It’s only when the host waves you over, mentioning that you “should meet” because you’d probably get along, that he looks up properly. His expression is tentative, like he wasn’t expecting to be introduced to anyone tonight. His smile, though — small, crooked, but genuine — softens the awkwardness instantly.

“Hi,” he says, adjusting his glasses as though it’s a reflex. There’s an energy in the way he speaks, like he’s both curious and cautious at the same time.

The conversation starts simply: how you know the host, what you do, the usual small talk. But somewhere in the exchange, something clicks. He leans in just a little more when you speak, asks follow-up questions that aren’t just polite filler. He’s careful, but there’s a brightness under the surface, a sense that he’s warming to this unexpected meeting faster than he thought he would.

At some point, a laugh slips out of him — unguarded, sharp but warm — and he shakes his head at himself like he didn’t mean to give that much away. But when his eyes flick back to yours, it’s clear he’s glad he did.

The room keeps buzzing around you, voices rising and falling, but for a few minutes it feels like the noise recedes, leaving just him and you in the corner of a crowded space — two people who came here not expecting much, and somehow stumbled into something worth remembering.