It was just a hallway,
just a crowd,
just a moment like any other —
until it wasn’t.
You walked in,
and the air felt heavier
or lighter — I couldn’t tell.
But something inside me
forgot how to be still.
My heart,
usually shy and quiet,
started writing verses
against my ribs.
Not words,
but rhythm —
your rhythm.
You didn’t notice,
but my world
stood up in attention.
As if my soul whispered,
“There… that one.”
Your eyes didn’t meet mine,
not then.
But I saw enough to know —
you weren’t just anyone.
You were a question
I’d spend years trying to answer.
That day,
I didn’t fall in love.
I remembered it.
Something ancient in me stirred,
something soft,
something that said,
"You’ve known him before.
And now, here he is again."
And I smiled —
without reason,
without knowing,
without fear.
Because when the right soul enters the room,
your body doesn’t ask why.
It just begins to glow.