"He came again yesterday?" The man at the next table nodded. His eyes were on me, but his head tilted slightly toward his coffee cup instead. A gaze I’d memorised. Every afternoon at three, for a month, he sat at the two-top by the window and watched me. I didn’t watch back. Quietly. The fact that he watched was enough to make my chest burn.
You Have to Come First
If he came again today, I must have smiled without noticing. But I pretended to hide it, so he would keep looking.
We were fluent in the language of looking. Eye contact, exchanged glances, a furtive smile. None of it, and all of it. One more step and we would have crossed into forbidden ground. So I said nothing. Neither did he. We both swallowed the word not yet.
That Day, I Took a Step
One afternoon he looked away. His gaze cooled, unusually distant. He stared out the window, fiddling with his phone. I thought I knew why the light in his eyes had dimmed.
I must have made him jealous. I feigned a sulk, as if we’d quarrelled. Then, without thinking, I stood. Walked to the counter, passing his table on purpose. One step, two—the distance closing by a metre each—when he suddenly rose. Shoved the glass door open, stretching the space between us into a chasm. I stood still; he disappeared without a trace. Though we’d never exchanged a word, hollow disappointment filled my throat.
True-Life Tale 1: The Fear Behind the Smile
Ji-eun, 32, locked eyes every Monday in the office corridor with a man named Jun-hyeok. He nodded instead of speaking. Ji-eun believed those eyes were hers alone. On days Jun-hyeok looked away she messaged him: “No coffee today?” He replied “kk” and she survived on that syllable for twenty-four hours. After a month she typed, “Lunch together?” One minute, two… the message stayed unread. Five minutes later it turned grey. She realised he now took the long way to avoid her. “I really liked him… why did he run?”
True-Life Tale 2: The Bitter Taste of Winning
Mi-so, 29, had crushed on Dong-ho for three years. All she ever did was send an Instagram follow request. Not only did he decline, he blocked her. Mi-so zoomed in on his profile photo until she could recite the shade of his irises. She tapped hearts on every story, accidentally double-tapped, cancelled, tapped again. One day she commented “Congrats!” beneath his friend’s wedding photo. Twelve hours later Dong-ho set his account to private. “I won,” she told herself, then curled up on her bed and cried, “What did I do wrong? The Dong-ho that was only mine is gone.”
Why Are We Drawn to This?
By merely looking at me, I become someone’s beloved. No hands, no kiss. Imprisoned in his gaze, I ironically taste freedom.
Lacan wrote that desire operates through lack. We fall for the absence we sense in the other—the fact that he wants me yet cannot have me. That lack makes me special. The moment he steps closer, the lack disappears—and with it, desire. Thus flight is not the end of desire but its continuation, a defence mechanism to protect the me who desires.
A Final Question
If he walks back in, will you truly approach this time? Or will you linger a little longer at the edge of that gaze, keeping your desire safely hidden?