When Absence Became Madness - The Day just like that - Part 1

 There are some faces the world forgets in seconds.

And then there are faces that arrive once… and stay forever.

She first saw him on an ordinary afternoon, outside the college gate where life moved like it always did—students laughing, vendors shouting, engines coughing smoke into the heat. Nothing about that day was special.

Until he walked past.

He wore no charm deliberately. No effort to be noticed. A plain shirt, tired eyes, books in one hand, and a mind clearly elsewhere. He crossed the road without looking around, as if the world had nothing worth seeing.

But she saw him.

And something inside her paused.

She stood still with a bottle of water in her hand while her friends spoke around her. Their words became distant noise. Her eyes followed the stranger until he disappeared into the crowd.

“Who are you staring at?” one of them laughed.

She didn’t answer.

Because she herself did not know.

That evening, she thought of him again.

Not in the normal way people remember strangers—but with a strange urgency. She remembered the way he walked. The curve of his shoulder. The silence on his face. The indifference in his eyes.

It irritated her.

How could someone she had never met occupy her mind so easily?

The next day, she reached college early.

Not for class.

For the gate.

She waited with no reason she could explain to herself. Every passing minute tightened something in her chest. Every unfamiliar face disappointed her.

Then, at exactly nine-twelve, he appeared again.

Walking the same way.

Looking nowhere.

Her heartbeat stumbled so violently she had to hold the railing beside her.

He passed without noticing her.

Yet the entire day became bright.

She laughed more than usual. Ate more than usual. Even the teachers seemed kinder. Her friends asked what miracle had happened.

She only smiled.

But on the third day—

He did not come.

At nine-twelve, she waited.

At nine-fifteen, she frowned.

At nine-thirty, she checked every road.

By ten, her palms were cold.

Something was wrong.

Nothing in class entered her ears. She snapped at friends for no reason. She pushed away lunch untouched. When someone asked if she was ill, she nearly screamed.

That evening, she stood near the gate long after everyone had left.

Waiting for a man whose name she did not know.

When she returned home, her mother asked why she looked pale.

“I’m fine,” she said.

But she was not.

That night, sleep refused to come.

And for the first time in her life, absence felt like pain.