As long as you only notice, you remain inside the flow. Once you interfere, the flow begins to notice you.
She found him herself.
As always.
But this time, he felt her before he saw her.
Not as a signal.
As a shift in the space around him.
As if something had become quieter.
She stood beneath the awning of a closed shop.
Rain struck the metal above in short rhythmic sounds.
He walked closer.
And before he even spoke, he understood:
she already knew.
She looked at him for only a second.
That was enough.
Then she said:
You interfered.
Not a question.
A fact.
He nodded.
Strangely, he didn’t feel the need to justify himself.
She remained silent for a few seconds.
As if listening to something he still couldn’t hear.
Then she said:
Now it becomes harder.
He felt a slight tightening inside.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
He asked:
Why?
She looked somewhere past him.
At the wet street.
At the people hurrying by without noticing anything around them.
Then quietly answered:
Because now you’ll begin to see things that would be better not to see.
The silence between them became heavier.
He wanted to ask something else.
But in that moment, he suddenly realized:
she wasn’t trying to scare him.
She was warning him.
And somehow, that was much worse.