In the following days the holidays slowly drew closer.
Everyone continued their own life, as if nothing was really changing.
One afternoon she went to the library with her friends to study. The environment was silent, broken only by the rustling of pages and the distant tapping of keyboards.
While she was looking for a free seat, her gaze slipped to the back of the room.
She saw him.
He was sitting alone, his back straight but relaxed, the same style as always.
But there was something different.
He was wearing glasses.
He was reading a manga, completely absorbed, one hand holding the volume, the other still, as if the world around him did not exist.
She slowed down without realizing it.
For a moment she stayed watching him.
So serious. So focused. So distant.
She realized she had stopped only when a friend called her. She sat at the table with them, opened her books, started studying.
Or at least, she tried to.
Every now and then her gaze went back there, almost against her will.
He never moved. He never looked up.
In the evening, at home, she was preparing dinner. She was cutting vegetables with more force than necessary, irritated by a thought she couldn't shake off.
Why did she keep thinking about it?
She slammed the knife on the cutting board with a sigh of anger.
Then she heard a movement behind her.
She turned abruptly.
It was him.
He passed by her without slowing down, without looking at her, as if she wasn't even there.
She flinched, her heart jumping into her throat.
"You could at least… make a sound," she said, trying to sound calm. "You scared me."
He stopped for just a second.
He did not turn around.
Then he started walking again, as always.
Silence filled the kitchen again.
And she remained there.
The next day.
The door opened without knocking.
She looked up, surprised: a girl with dark hair and bright eyes entered with a luminous smile.
"Hey! I wasn't expecting you!" said the sister, full of energy.
"You're beautiful," she added immediately, addressing her, without hesitation. "Really, you're prettier than I thought!"
Before she could answer, the brother arrived at that moment, with his hair still damp with sweat and a tight tank top. He was about to go take a shower, but he stopped to look at them.
"What are you doing here?" he said, without any surprise, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
"I came to visit my big brother for the holidays," the sister replied, with a mischievous smile. "I knew you wouldn't come home anyway."
He didn't answer, only shrugged slightly and headed to the bathroom, leaving behind a silence full of normality. She watched, half amused and half puzzled. The sister continued talking to her, telling light and joking stories, without paying attention to the brother's coldness.
Later, in the living room, the sister looked at him with a raised eyebrow:
"So… how come I don't smell smoke?"
She looked at him, surprised. But… why does he smoke?
He answered without looking up:
"I don't smoke in the common rooms."
The sister laughed lightly, with a sly smile:
"Indeed… I smelled it in your room."
She kept thinking, confused: So he smokes… and why doesn't he smoke in the common rooms?
"Why?" the sister insisted, curious.
"Out of respect," he replied, dry and impassive.
She remained silent, her thoughts running fast: Out of respect… so he knows that I don't smoke? How does he know?
"I'm done, I'm tired," the sister said, stretching her legs. "I'm going to sleep in your room, big brother."
She, curious, asked: "And where will you sleep?"
He, without looking up, simply replied: "On the couch."
The sister laughed softly, shrugging her shoulders, and went toward the brother's room, disappearing behind the door.
Silence returned to the house, interrupted only by the rustling of her clothes while she arranged some things.
The next morning.
The usual boy had just sat next to him in the corridor, looking for a quiet place. They were not friends, but he seemed to feel safer near him.
Shortly after, a group of boys surrounded him. They pushed him, insulted him, one hit him making him fall to the ground.
He approached calmly, lifted him and placed him sitting against the nearby wall, away from the group.
One of the bullies, seeing the intervention, laughed nervously:
"Hey, this is none of your business. Mind your own business… like you always do. Otherwise you'll get beaten too."
He said nothing. His cold gaze, fixed, observed every move of the group leader.
The main bully, annoyed, tried a punch.
He reacted with precision: he dodged and with a clean straight punch knocked him to the ground.
The corridor became silent. The bullies, incredulous, got up and ran away dragging their companion.
The bullied boy looked at him, surprised and relieved.
"Thank you… really," he said, with a trembling voice.
He looked at him for a moment, serious, without a smile.
"If you don't react, you get nowhere," he said dryly, directly.
The boy swallowed, struck by the bluntness and the meaning of the sentence.
He turned away, impassive, and picked up his things. No more words were necessary: the gesture and that sentence had already said everything.
During the day, between one lecture and another, small rumors began to circulate.
Some people were talking about the mysterious boy who had stopped the group of bullies and defended the one who was targeted.
She, between notes and chatting with her friends, heard the story from afar, and couldn't help but turn, curious.
Her roommate, silent and distant as always, kept moving through the corridors without paying attention to the chatter: yet, even so, his reputation grew, without the need for words or excessive gestures.
And so another day ended.
The next day, in class, they talked about the parties that would anticipate the Christmas holidays. Before ending the lesson, the professors reminded everyone that everyone would have to attend.
He, with a dry and direct tone, replied: "I won't come."
The bully, noticing the answer, stepped forward with a sarcastic smile:
"Oh, you're not coming? Because you don't want to show yourself in another light? Or because your 'tough guy image' might be ruined?"
He looked at him briefly, cold and impassive, then gave a cold smile to the bully and stood up to leave. No more words, no reaction: only the decisive gesture and the coldness that distinguished him.
She watched everything, with a mix of surprise and curiosity in her eyes.
At home, she stopped him:
"You're not coming to the party, right?"
"No," he replied.
The sister, entering the conversation:
"What party?"
"The Christmas party, we all have to go," explained the roommate.
"And why aren't you going?" the sister asked.
"I don't care." he replied.
The conversation ended there.
On the night of the party, the sister came in with an elegant suit, handing it to him:
"You have to go, at least show up. Then if you want, you can leave," she said with a sly smile.
He, without protesting, took the suit and got ready. When the sister saw him dressed, she exclaimed: "Big brother, you're really handsome! Too bad about your character." then she left; not caring about the rest, he went only because, in fact, it was mandatory.
The hall was already almost full. People were chatting in small groups, glasses clinking, someone laughing too loudly. The air smelled of perfume and expectation, as if the party had already started long ago.
He entered wearing a tight suit, pinstriped shoes and a black shirt, sleeves slightly rolled up, showing the watch and the veins of his forearm muscles.
Professors and students were surprised. They had never seen him like this.
A silent shadow among the crowd, but one that caught the gaze of anyone who crossed it. No words were needed: those who observed him perceived his presence, an aura of confidence mixed with mystery.
For a moment everyone was stunned: they had never seen him like this. Those who usually didn't notice him, now did.
The eyes of many girls lit up, including the one of the bully who had said those things to him. He, without looking away, smiled at the bully, who seemed not to know how to react.
Then, among the crowd, his gaze stopped on her. She was not far away, motionless for a moment, wrapped in a red dress that stood out among the dull colors around. He noticed her without lingering, as one notices things that remain even when everything else passes.
Then he disappeared into the crowd, heading outside to smoke a cigarette.
The boy who had been bullied approached, without saying a word. Only:
"You're not that different from how you usually dress… I don't understand all this surprise."
He gave a small smile and said nothing. After a moment, she arrived, greeting him. The boy left.
She began to talk, trying not to show that she too had been struck by his presence.
"I didn't expect you to react to a provocation," she said.
He replied without even looking at her:
"Did you want me not to reveal my body? Did you want to keep this exclusive?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, blushing slightly.
"Well, you saw me that day… when you called the police, and also your friends."
She blushed even more, remembering that moment.
"Wha… no, I just didn't want it to seem like the kind of person who would act like that," she stammered.
He looked at her for a moment, serious but with a hint of irony in his eyes:
"You don't know me."
"Exactly," she said, sighing and smiling softly.
She was about to leave, but he stopped her:
"How did you manage to understand right away that I don't smoke, when you don't even look at me?"
He looked her in the eyes for a moment.
"Because I don't look the way you do. I observe. Not you. I observe details."
"Which details?" she asked.
"For example," he replied, "the color of your fingers. A smoker has a yellowish tone where they hold the cigarette…"
She looked at him, surprised by the precision of the detail.
"So… are you always this attentive to everything?" she asked, trying to hide the curiosity in her voice.
He with an impassive face.
"Only to what surrounds me." he finally said, without looking away.
She smiled softly, a little amused and a little annoyed by his coldness.
"Oh really? So you observe me?"
He remained silent for a moment, then slowly turned, his dark gaze fixed ahead, as if checking everything around him.
"You don't know it yet," he said in a neutral tone, while his attention drifted toward the panorama beyond the party lights, as if it didn't matter who was watching him. It was his way of being, always attentive to details, always respectful of the unwritten rules he gave himself.
She looked at him while he turned toward the exit. In a calm, almost distracted tone, she said:
"You changed clothes… but you're still the same as always."
his calm step, his gaze already distant from all that noise.
The lights of the party slid over him without holding him.
In a few moments he disappeared into the crowd.
She remained standing where she was.
She followed him with her eyes until she lost sight of him.
Only then did she realize her mouth was slightly open, as if she had been holding her breath without noticing.
She still felt on her the weight of his gaze, his measured words, that way of being there and at the same time not belonging to anything.
She ran a hand through her hair, trying to compose herself.
She was annoyed.
And inexplicably struck.
"Hey."
Her friend's voice made her flinch slightly.
"You stood there like a statue," she said, smiling sideways. "Are you sure you're okay?"
She finally looked away from the exit, inhaled slowly.
"Yes… of course."
The friend looked at her for a second too long, then tilted her head, amused.
"Come on," she said, taking her by the arm, "let's go get a drink."
She let herself be dragged away, casting one last distracted glance toward the door.
The music covered everything again.
But something inside her had already stopped following the rhythm of the party.