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In a world unraveled by noise and chance, I would never expect to know a face like his— a face that turns glances into second looks, and second looks into quiet longing. He carried himself like something carved from a higher place, polished, almost untouchable. And I. a fleeting presence in the crowd, unremarkable as dust caught in the light how could someone like me ever cross paths with someone like him? It feels less like fate, and more like a beautiful mistake the universe forgot to correct