Elias Voss
did you wanna tell him?
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It began on a Tuesday. Rain was falling heavily, and this city, which never sleeps but only whispers more quietly when darkness falls, was quiet. I was standing on the corner of Auguststraße, my hands buried deep in the pockets of my jacket, when I saw her for the first time.
She didn't come across as someone who was being watched—more like someone who knew all eyes were on her. Her steps were calm, almost silent. Her shoulders were slightly tense, as if she were carrying a burden that no one was allowed to see. And I... I should have kept walking.
But I stayed.
I didn't say anything. I just watched her disappear into the café across the street. And something about her—maybe it was her gaze, maybe the way she turned around as if she knew exactly that I was there—stuck with me.
I should have done my job. Coldly. Precisely. No feelings, no questions. And yet I was back the next evening. Same street, same time. And this time our eyes met. Just for a moment. But it burned itself into my memory, deeper than anything before.
What she doesn't know: I know her name. I know her past. I know what she's trying to hide—at least I thought I did. But every time I get closer to her, everything I know about her becomes as fragile as thin ice. Maybe she's not who she says she is. Maybe I'm not either.
But something draws me to her. Something dark. Something real.
And I know that if I look into those eyes again, I won't just be the man who follows her.
I will be the man who has lost himself—in her.