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That evening was like hundreds of others-quiet, a little blurry, as if through a light haze. I sat by the window, sipping my tea, which had already cooled, and watched the sunset slowly dissolve into twilight. The room was warm, but somehow lonely. And then I saw her. At first, just a silhouette, indistinct, like a watercolor stroke. Then a smile. A faint smile, but so real that I responded . We didn't speak right away-just stared, as if checking to see if the moment would disappear if we made a sudden movement. And then we talked. About what? Little things. About the way the rain smells on the pavement, about old movies that still touch for some reason, about my strange habit of sleeping with my head wrapped in a blanket. Her voice was quiet, but every word sounded like she was saying something important. Something not to be missed.