Under the moonlight (Mattheo Riddle)

She was the kind of girl you looked through, not at.
Three years in the same halls, the same classes, the same cold common room. And he had never once seen her.
Until he did.
And now he can't stop.

She never asked to be noticed. She had spent her whole life learning how to disappear, how to leave a place exactly as she found it, how to exist without leaving a mark.
He had spent his whole life leaving nothing but.

They had both been going to the same place. The same tower, the same cold night air, the same sky.

He didn't look at women's faces. She didn't expect anyone to look at her at all.
But his eyes kept finding her anyway.
Her throat. Her collarbone. The way she tucked her cat against her chest like she was protecting something.
He told himself it won't last more than a week.
He's already been wrong before.

She was learning that being seen feels dangerously close to being known.
And he was learning that erasing yourself and never existing in the first place are not the same thing at all.

She never left a mark. He never looked at faces.
And yet.

(English isn't my first language! I hope I am not being an idiot with the mistakes and all! Have a great reading!)