He followed her, remaining in the shadows. Not like a predator - no, not at all. He wasn't hiding, yet he didn't seek to be noticed. He was simply watching. Her steps, her movements, the gentle sway of her hair in the wind - everything seemed strangely magnetic. Life buzzed around them: the murmur of voices, the click of heels, flashes from screens. Yet she walked as if passing through it all, as if she were in another reality, moving at her own pace - slow and assured. She didn't look back. Either she didn't sense him, or she simply didn't care.
He himself couldn't understand why he was following her. It wasn't a decision. He could have vanished at any moment - dissolved into an alley, as he had done thousands of times before. But step after step, he kept going, as if he had no other choice.
She turned into a quiet, almost forgotten park. The air smelled of damp leaves and coolness. The wind stirred the branches of the trees. The benches were old and peeling, like memories forgotten long ago. She sat down, took out a book, and began flipping through its pages. Unhurriedly, as if she knew them by heart and was simply reconnecting with long-familiar words.
He stood in the shade of a maple tree. His heart - one he had almost forgotten how to feel - was pounding. Fast, sharply. He was surprised by that sound. It was the first time in centuries that it had made itself known.
He took a step forward.
Why?
Another step.
To ask her name?
A third step.
No, no. Silly.
Before he knew it, he was standing right beside her. Her eyes—the color of amber, warm and autumnal - met his. His, grey as the morning mist, trembled.
"Um..." he stammered, his voice faltering. He had never felt such uncertainty before. "I... you... book..." - everything jumbled together.
She looked at him calmly. Without fear, without surprise. A barely perceptible, almost ethereal smile played upon her lips.
"Hello" - she said.
Just one word. Yet he felt as though he were hearing it for the first time in his life.
"Hello..." - he repeated softly, almost as a whisper.
Then he turned and walked away. Just like that. Without explanation. Without her name. Without purpose. He couldn't even understand what had just happened.
Only when the streets swallowed him again did he realize: he was stuttering.
He - the one who had spoken before emperors, who had whispered incantations in forgotten tongues, who had swayed destinies and woven myths - he was stuttering?
"What was that?" he wondered.
And, for the first time in countless centuries... he did not know the answer.