It never really announces itself, but my eyes always seem to know where she is. Not because I search for her, everything else just slowly fades when she’s around, like the world softens just enough for her to stay clear. I don’t notice the exact moment it happens, only that somehow, out of everything in front of me, it’s always her I end up seeing. She doesn’t try to be noticed, doesn’t ask for attention, yet she becomes the only thing my focus understands. My attention doesn’t hesitate anymore, it just goes to her, again and again, like it already knows where it belongs. Even when I try to look elsewhere, it never really stays there for long, like everything else feels temporary compared to her. There’s something quiet about it, something steady. Not loud, not overwhelming, just constant. Like my eyes have already memorized her in a way I never meant them to. It doesn’t feel sudden or dramatic, just natural, like something that was always meant to happen without needing a reason. Like she became a familiar place my gaze returns to without thinking. Sometimes I wonder if it even means anything, or if it’s just one of those things that exist without explanation. But the more I notice it, the more it feels certain, like out of everything that comes and goes, she’s the one that stays the same. Not louder, not closer, just… there. And maybe that’s the part I can’t fully explain, how something so simple can feel so certain. How out of everything that passes through my sight, she’s the one that remains. Not as something I chose, but as something my eyes already decided for me.