You looked at me longer than most people do.

It wasn’t the quick glance people give before moving on, the kind that skims the surface and never bothers to linger.

It was steady, almost deliberate, like you were letting yourself really see me.

For a moment, I felt the familiar pull to shrink away.

I used to look down in moments like this, to fold myself smaller so no one could decide who I was before I had the chance to tell them.

But this time, I stayed still.

I let you look, and I let myself be looked at.

I met your gaze without flinching, without apology.

It didn’t feel like you were searching for flaws or taking inventory of my edges.

Your eyes didn’t strip me; they didn’t take.

They simply met mine, holding a space between us that felt rare and unthreatening.

Like we were both standing in the same light and agreeing, without a word, to stay there.