Maya walked home slower than usual, the crisp air brushing past her cheeks like a quiet reassurance. She wasn't used to feeling… noticed. That stranger with kind eyes—he didn't ask for anything. He didn't force her to speak. He just saw her.
That night, sleep didn't come easily. Her mind replayed the way his gaze had held no pity, only quiet understanding. For the first time in a long time, she didn't feel invisible. And somehow, that made her chest ache more than the loneliness ever did.
She reached under her bed and pulled out the old sketchbook she hadn't opened in two years. The pages still smelled like charcoal and memories. Her fingers trembled as she flipped past faded drawings—portraits of strangers she used to imagine, empty parks, and one sketch she never finished: a girl sitting alone at a café table, her hands wrapped around a mug. Her own reflection, though she'd never admit it.
That night, Maya drew again.
Lines poured out like breath. First hesitant, then sure. She sketched the stranger—his eyes, the way his hands rested on the table, and the soft kindness etched in the slope of his smile. For a girl who hadn't spoken in public in months, it felt like she was telling a story on the page.
When morning came, her mother noticed the open sketchbook on the table.
"You drew again?" her voice was soft, unsure. "It's beautiful."
Maya just nodded. A small one. But enough.
Later that day, at the café, she returned—not to speak, but to observe. And he was there again. Same table. Same calm presence.
He looked up and smiled. "I was hoping I'd see you again."
Maya froze.
"You don't have to talk," he added quickly, "I just… wanted you to know that you made my day brighter yesterday."
She sat down across from him, unsure why. Her hands curled around a cup of hot chocolate the barista had started to prepare the moment she walked in.
"I'm Luca," he offered.
She didn't respond. But she didn't leave either.
Instead, she reached into her bag and slid a small, folded paper across the table. Inside was the sketch she made—the one of him.
Luca stared at it, visibly moved. "You drew this?"
Maya nodded again, barely meeting his eyes.
"This… this is incredible."
He looked up at her, no longer a stranger. "You have a gift."
And in that moment, for the first time in what felt like forever, Maya believed it.