There are moments when life gives you people you don’t know…
yet somehow recognize.

Not by name.
Not by voice.
Not by memories.
But by feeling.

That’s what she was.
A stranger — yes.
But one who felt familiar in a way that didn’t make sense.

I couldn’t explain it, even to myself.

The logical part of me kept saying:
You don’t know her.
It’s nothing.
It was just a look.

But something deeper, something instinctive whispered the opposite.
Something inside me reacted to her presence long before I had the chance to think.
As if a part of me had been waiting for her without realizing it.

And the strangest thing?
I didn’t even know anything about her.
Not her name.
Not her age.
Not the sound of her laugh.
Not the story behind her eyes.

But I felt connected.
In a small, quiet, impossible way.

The next day, I woke up earlier than usual.
Not on purpose — my body simply refused to sleep.
My thoughts were restless, pacing back and forth between what I knew… and what I felt.

I tried to push the memory away.
Tried to focus on routine, on tasks, on everything that usually keeps my mind busy.
But she kept coming back like a soft echo — not loud enough to overwhelm me, but persistent enough that I couldn’t ignore it.

I found myself wondering where she was at that exact moment.
What she might be doing.
If she had thought about me too — even for a second.
Not in a romantic way, not in a dramatic way…
just a simple did I cross her mind at all?

It’s strange how fast your mind attaches itself to a moment that felt real.

I didn’t believe in soul connections.
I didn’t believe in “meant to be.”
I didn’t believe in stories where two people lock eyes and destiny decides the rest.

But then again…
I also didn’t believe in a stranger feeling so strangely familiar.

I don’t know what familiarity even means in this context.
It wasn’t that she looked like someone I knew.
It wasn’t déjà vu.
It wasn’t fantasy.

It felt like meeting someone from a book I once read.
Someone whose essence I recognized even if the details were different.
Someone I was supposed to meet eventually.

The day went on, and I kept catching myself searching crowds without realizing.
Just a glance.
Just a quick scan.
Just a small hope that she might appear again, the same way she appeared the first time — unexpectedly, effortlessly, unannounced.

I wasn’t obsessed.
I wasn’t imagining a future with her.
It wasn’t that kind of story.

It was curiosity.
A strong, magnetic curiosity that made the world feel a little less empty.

I noticed things differently that day.
Faces.
Movements.
Conversations happening around me.

Everyone seemed… distant.
As if they were part of a movie in which I wasn’t fully present.

Because somewhere out there, in that same world, she existed too.
Living.
Breathing.
Walking.
Thinking about something — maybe not about me, but thinking nonetheless.

And for some reason, that mattered.

It made me feel connected to something bigger than my daily routine.
It made the world seem less random.
Less chaotic.
More intentional.

I didn’t realize I was smiling until someone pointed it out.
A coworker laughed and asked what had gotten into me.
I shrugged it off.

What was I supposed to say?

“A stranger looked at me yesterday and it changed something inside me.”

They’d think I was crazy.

But it was true.

The next days followed the same pattern — a mix of normal life and quiet anticipation.
I had no guarantee I’d see her again.
No reason to believe I would.
No logical explanation for why I even wanted to.

But I felt it.

A pull.
A thread.
A quiet whisper at the back of my mind reminding me that some strangers aren’t strangers at all — they’re beginnings.

And the more time passed, the more the thought settled inside me:

If our paths crossed once,
they could cross again.

Maybe not today.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But someday — and the idea of that someday was enough to keep the spark alive.

Not because I was waiting for her.
Not because I was building fantasies.
But because meeting her reminded me of something I had forgotten:

That connection doesn’t always need reason.
Sometimes it just needs timing.

And something inside me was quietly, stubbornly convinced that…
this wasn’t over.

Not yet.

Always and Forever.