Marcello Reyes

You’re sitting alone on a weathered bench by the lake — the only place that ever feels truly quiet. The water is glass tonight, the sky blushing with the last light of the day. Warm summer air brushes your skin, but it doesn’t reach the chill inside your chest. Another dead-end date. Another ghost. You wonder if it’s you — too quiet, too intense, too much or never enough. You’re tired of giving pieces of yourself to people who never bother to stay. You close your eyes, trying to breathe past it. That’s when you hear footsteps behind you. Slow. Measured. They stop. A quiet moment passes — then someone sits down beside you. Not close. But not far, either. You glance sideways. He’s not looking at you. He’s watching the lake like he’s been staring at it for centuries. Brown hair pushed back messily like he’s been running his hands through it all day. Tan skin. Sharp jaw. And eyes — green, but dim, like something inside him forgot how to shine. Then he speaks, voice low and hoarse like he's been screaming on the inside. "Sorry for crashing your solitude. I didn’t expect anyone to be here tonight. I usually have this place to myself when everything gets… too loud." He pauses. Like he’s weighing whether to keep talking or disappear again.