Part 3

It was late in the afternoon when Cara received the text from Andi.

ANDI: Guess who’s sitting by the greenhouse again…

Cara didn’t need to ask. Her stomach twisted. She dropped her textbook onto the bed, barely read past the same paragraph three times anyway, and typed back with forced ease.

CARA: You serious?

ANDI: Dead. Wanna go?

She took too long to answer. Her thumbs hovered, her pulse quick.

CARA: On my way.

---

The greenhouse sat just behind the east side of campus, near the edge of the old botanical gardens, where no one really went unless they were high or heartbroken. It was half-abandoned — ivy crept up the glass, and the inside always smelled of loam and orchids past bloom.

And there he was.

The Masked Man sat on the stone ledge of a broken fountain, bathed in the gold of the setting sun. He looked like he belonged there — like the crumbling statues and tangled vines had grown around him. His mask caught the light, glowing almost white-hot in the dusk.

Andi stood with him, already talking, smiling in that soft, genuine way she reserved for the rare things that truly fascinated her.

Cara felt her stomach sink.

She pasted on a smile. “Well, this is starting to feel like a habit.”

He turned toward her. “You’re consistent.”

That should have felt like a compliment. It didn’t.

Andi shifted a bit, glancing at Cara but not stepping aside. Not making room. Not anymore.

“Did we interrupt your plant communing?” Cara joked, stepping closer.

“I don’t commune,” the Masked Man replied, serene. “I just listen.”

“To what?” Andi asked.

“Everything.”

He said it without irony. Like it was a simple fact. Like he really did. Andi laughed under her breath, brushing her hair behind her ear. She sat on the low edge of the fountain, her knee close to his. Too close.

Cara didn’t sit.

She stood awkwardly nearby, arms crossed, watching them talk. Watching how he turned his head ever so slightly when Andi spoke. How he tilted his body toward her. How Andi didn’t even seem to notice — or pretended not to.

“She’s always been good with quiet people,” Cara said suddenly.

Both of them looked up.

Andi blinked. “What?”

“You. You know how to draw people out.” She smiled, tight-lipped. “It’s a gift.”

Andi narrowed her eyes just slightly. “I don’t think he needs me to draw him out.”

“I think I speak just fine,” the Masked Man added.

Cara’s smile turned sour in her mouth. The air grew thick.

“You always talk like that?” she asked, eyes narrowing. “Like you’re quoting a riddle book?”

He tilted his head at her again — that same, unsettling, almost mechanical movement. “You ask fewer questions when Andi’s around.”

Cara flinched.

Andi’s mouth parted in surprise. “Hey, don’t bring me into this.”

“But you’re already in it,” he said. “You both are. I don’t think either of you knows how to stay out.”

Andi looked down. A slow smile touched her lips. She liked it — the challenge of him, the mystery. The power in the unknown.

Cara felt something sharp wedge between her ribs.

The silence in the dorm was deafening.

Andi kicked off her shoes and tossed her phone onto her bed, humming under her breath like nothing was wrong. Cara stood near the door, arms crossed.

“So what was that?” Cara said, finally.

Andi turned. “What was what?”

“That little performance.”

Andi’s smile dropped. “Seriously?”

Cara stepped forward. “Don’t play dumb, Andi. The eyes, the leaning in, the—touching. You were practically melting into him.”

Andi stared. “Are you mad because I talked to him?”

“I’m mad because you know what you’re doing.”

“Do I?” Andi shot back. “Because last I checked, you were the one who dragged me over to him the first time. You said it was just fun. A weird guy. A distraction.”

Cara’s voice trembled. “It was—at first. But now it’s like you’re—”

“What?” Andi demanded. “Like I’m what, Cara? Interested? So are you. You just hate that he looks at me the way you want him to look at you.”

The words hit like a slap. Cara’s face twisted, the burn of humiliation rising up her neck.

“You don’t even know him,” she said.

“No,” Andi said, stepping closer. “But I’m trying to. And he’s letting me.”

Cara’s breath hitched. Her voice dropped low, venomous. “You always do this.”

Andi blinked. “Do what?”

“Take the thing I want — without ever saying that you want it too.”

There it was. The root. Ugly. Raw.

Andi looked stunned. “This isn’t about him, is it?”

Cara laughed bitterly. “Of course it’s about him. It’s always about whoever you shine for, Andi. You act like you’re not trying, and somehow, you still win.”

Andi stood there, stunned, her chest rising and falling like she couldn’t breathe.

“I didn’t know this was a competition,” she whispered.

“Well,” Cara said, brushing past her toward her side of the room, “maybe you should’ve.”

Three days passed.

Andi didn’t mention the fight again. Cara didn’t either. But the silence between them wasn’t peaceful. It was pressurized — like the air just before a thunderstorm. They moved around each other like ghosts, each pretending nothing was wrong, though everything had shifted.

They didn’t talk about the Masked Man.

But he came anyway.

It was dusk, and the sky hung low and violet. Students were filtering into the quad for a live band and free tacos night — the kind of harmless college event everyone forgot by morning.

Cara stayed behind in the dorm. Andi needed air.

She wandered the campus gardens, the sounds of music and laughter distant, almost dreamlike. She didn’t expect to see him. Not this time.

But he was there.

Leaning against the rusted gate that led into the grove of weeping trees, half-shadowed by drooping branches. As if he knew she’d come this way.

Andi stopped. Her heart picked up, but she didn't smile. “Are you following me?”

“No,” he said, voice smooth as always. “I was waiting.”

“For what?”

He didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head toward her again — the movement so slow it almost didn’t seem human.

“For you.”

Andi took a step closer, her breath catching. “Why?”

“Because the cracks are starting to show,” he murmured. “And I want to see what you both do when they split wide open.”

She frowned. “You’re talking like this is some kind of game.”

“Isn’t it?”

Andi blinked. “Is that what this is to you?”

His voice dropped lower. “I don’t play games, Andi. But I do… watch.”

He took a step forward, the mask inches from her face now. The space between them felt electric. Dangerous.

“You shine when she’s not around,” he said. “You stop hiding. You stop apologizing for being the one who holds the match.”

“What does that mean?” she whispered.

“It means,” he said softly, “you’re not the one in her shadow. She’s the one in yours.”

Andi’s breath hitched.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

And just like that, he stepped back. The air seemed to rush in between them, thick and hot. She felt dizzy.

Before she could speak again, he turned and walked into the darkening trees without a word. Gone. Like he’d never been there.

Back in the dorm, Cara was pacing when Andi returned. The second the door shut, she looked up sharply.

“You saw him,” Cara said. “Didn’t you?”

Andi froze in the doorway.

“You think I wouldn’t know? You come back like that — flushed, quiet, smug.”

“I didn’t plan it.”

“But you didn’t text me either.”

Andi dropped her keys on the desk with a metallic clatter. “Maybe because the last time we talked about him, you accused me of stealing something that was never yours.”

Cara’s mouth opened — then snapped shut. She crossed her arms. “What did he say?”

“Nothing,” Andi lied.

Cara’s eyes narrowed. “You’re hiding something.”

Andi stared at her for a long moment. Then, calmly, she sat on her bed.

“You know what scares me, Cara?” she said, voice low. “Not him. You. You’ve been looking at me like you want to set something on fire and blame me for the flames.”

Cara laughed — but it was cold. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do,” Andi said. “Because he saw it too.”

Cara blinked. “He said that?”

Andi didn’t answer.

Cara stared at her, rage building behind her eyes like a storm. But she said nothing more. She just turned and climbed into bed — back to Andi, silent, trembling.

But her mind was screaming.

She wasn’t going to lose.

Not to her.

Not like this.

Cara didn’t sleep that night.

She lay in bed listening to Andi’s quiet breathing across the room, her eyes locked on the ceiling fan spinning shadows overhead. She replayed everything — his words, his glances, the way he always gravitated to her. To Andi.

You shine when she’s not around.

It was like a hook in her brain, dragging up everything she’d buried for years — every time someone had picked Andi first. Every time, Cara had been the louder one, the prettier one, but never the one people stayed for.

It wasn’t fair.

And it wasn’t over.

She found him just before sunrise.

The sky was washed in pale gray and pink, and dew clung to the grass like the earth hadn’t made up its mind whether it wanted to sleep or wake. Cara walked the paths around the greenhouse — the place where they’d met him more than once — until she spotted him.

He stood beneath the same tree as before, hands in his coat pockets, motionless as stone.

She approached slowly, heart thundering.

“I wanted to see you alone,” she said.

The Masked Man didn’t move. But his head turned slightly toward her, like he’d been expecting it.

“Did she send you?” he asked.

Cara scowled. “No. This isn’t about her.”

He tilted his head. “Isn’t it always?”

Something in his voice — dry, quiet — sent a chill across her skin. She pushed forward anyway.

“I don’t get it,” she said. “You talk like you see everything, like you understand people. But you don’t. You don’t know her. Not really. She puts on this sweet, quiet front but—”

“She doesn’t need to explain herself to be seen,” he interrupted gently.

That stopped her.

He stepped forward once — slowly, deliberately — and Cara felt her breath catch.

“You want me to say what you’re hoping?” he said. “That I see something in you I’ve missed. That it’s you I’m drawn to. That I’ve just been waiting for you to come alone so I could say it.”

The wind stirred. Cara couldn’t speak.

“But I’m not drawn to longing,” he continued. “I’m drawn to what people hide from themselves. And you… You wear everything like armor, hoping someone will mistake it for depth.”

Her jaw clenched. “That’s not true.”

“You want to be chosen,” he said, calm and sharp. “But you don’t want to be known. Not really. You want attention. Control. Worship. But not intimacy. Not honesty.”

She took a shaky breath. “Why her, then? What does she have that I don’t?”

His voice lowered. “She listens to silence.”

Cara’s stomach twisted. “You’re full of shit.”

He didn’t argue.

He just turned his back on her.

That — that dismissal — burned more than anything else. As if the conversation was over. As if she was already over.

“I could tell her things,” she said suddenly. “Things you’ve said. Things that would change everything.”

“You could,” he replied softly, still facing away. “But if you were really that cruel, you’d have done it already.”

Cara stood there, trembling, rage bubbling in her chest like acid. Her fists curled.

But she didn’t move.

He walked away.

And she was left alone under the tree, the sky beginning to glow a soft blue — the kind of light that should’ve felt clean. But all it did was show her reflection in the greenhouse glass: small, angry, and unwanted.

Part 2

Two nights later, the stars were barely visible over campus, swallowed by hazy clouds and city glow. Andi and Cara lounged on the rooftop of their dorm, legs dangling over the ledge, half a pizza between them, and soda cans sweating in the warm breeze.

They hadn’t talked about him. Not directly. Not yet.

Cara tapped her fingers against her thigh, breaking the silence. “So… are we just not gonna talk about the guy in the mask?”

Andi smirked, pretending to play it cool. “I thought you were obsessed with pretending he’s ‘just eccentric.’”

“I never said I wasn’t intrigued.”

“Please,” Andi snorted. “You were practically drooling when he paid for dinner.”

Cara rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You weren’t exactly subtle either, Miss ‘What are you thanking us for?’ Like you were dying for a deep, poetic answer.”

Andi’s smirk faded. “Okay, yeah. I’m curious. Aren’t you?”

Cara leaned back on her elbows. “He’s strange. Weirdly calm. And that mask… it should creep me out more than it does.”

“It does creep me out,” Andi admitted. “But I still want to know what’s underneath.”

Cara turned her head, eyes locking with Andi’s. “Same.”

There was a pause. Not awkward — but heavy. Quiet. The kind that meant more than either of them said out loud.

“I keep thinking,” Cara said slowly, “what if we don’t see him again? What if he was just some random, passing thing?”

“He’s not random,” Andi said too quickly. “He… he chooses to show up.”

They both fell silent again, staring at the sky. Their thoughts buzzed loudly, though neither said it: they both wanted another chance. Another moment. Another piece of the puzzle.

They didn’t have to wait long.

It happened three days later, in the sculpture garden behind the fine arts building. Andi had just gotten out of a studio critique and texted Cara, but got no reply. She wandered instead, needing air, and found herself drawn to the quietest corner of campus.

The breeze stirred leaves along the stone path. Sculptures loomed around her like forgotten guardians. And there he was.

The Masked Man.

He sat on a bench, elbows on knees, mask tilted toward a rusted abstract figure of twisted steel. He didn’t flinch when she approached.

“You really don’t sleep, do you?” Andi asked, stepping closer.

He chuckled. “Sleep’s overrated.”

She sat beside him, heart thrumming. “You always hang around the art building?”

“I like what people create when they think no one’s watching.”

Andi turned toward him. Her voice was low, almost cautious. “You never told us your name.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Names are… personal.”

“I want to know you,” she said, before she could stop herself.

He looked at her then — or it felt like he did. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “You’re… fascinating. Like a locked room, I want to figure out.”

There was silence between them. Not cold. Not warm. Just… charged.

Then, slowly, Andi reached out — fingertips brushing the edge of the mask, feather-light.

“Can I see you?” she whispered.

Before he could answer, footsteps approached.

Cara. She froze at the edge of the path, eyes flicking from Andi’s hand to the Masked Man’s still body. Her voice was calm, but tight. “Hey. Thought you were heading back.”

Andi pulled her hand back quickly, like she’d been caught doing something shameful.

“I ran into him,” she said. “Was just talking.”

Cara stepped forward, her smile polite, but her jaw clenched. “Mind if I join?”

“Of course not,” the Masked Man said, rising slightly to make space.

But the air had shifted. The balance was broken. Andi felt it the moment Cara sat between them on the bench — a small, deliberate move that didn’t need words.

Andi didn’t speak much after that. But she watched them. Watched Cara lean in a little too close. Watched how her laugh turned a little too easy. And something twisted quietly inside her chest.

The Masked Man never said a thing. But he noticed it too.

He noticed everything. The next time they saw him, it wasn’t planned. It never was.

It was Saturday, and campus buzzed with the lazy energy of a late summer weekend. There was a small outdoor art fair set up on the quad — student vendors selling pottery, wire-wrapped crystals, abstract paintings, and handmade zines. The air smelled like kettle corn and fresh paint.

Andi and Cara were browsing a booth of watercolor prints when a voice, smooth as honey and quiet as dusk, slipped behind them.

“You’ve got good taste.”

Andi turned — a smile already tugging at her lips before she could stop it. The Masked Man stood just a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of a long black coat despite the heat, that same unblinking mask watching her like the rest of the world had gone still.

Cara smiled too, but her tone was cooler. “What, you following us now?”

“If I were, would you mind?” he replied.

Andi laughed. “Depends. Are you planning to keep buying us dinner?”

His head tilted. “Would you let me?”

They started to walk, the three of them wandering down the rows of booths. It didn’t take long before Andi noticed it — the way the Masked Man stood just a little closer to her than to Cara. How, when he asked questions — “What kind of art makes you feel something?” or “What do you dream about when you're not sure you're awake?” — he always waited for her answer first.

He even reached out once, lightly brushing Andi’s shoulder as he pointed to a painting. “This one feels like you,” he said.

It was a surreal piece — a girl walking into a glowing forest, face obscured, light bleeding through the trees behind her. Andi stared at it, unsure whether to feel flattered or exposed.

Cara watched all of it. Quietly. Every glance. Every gesture.

At a booth near the center, the vendor handed the Masked Man a small clay charm shaped like a crescent moon. “You dropped this earlier,” she said.

He looked at it for a second, then turned to Andi. “Here.”

She blinked. “What?”

He placed it in her palm. “You should have it.”

Andi opened her mouth, then closed it again, fingers curling around the cool clay. Cara stood off to the side, her arms folded, a smile fixed tight on her lips.

When they finally sat under a tree with lemonades and a paper tray of fried noodles, the air between them had shifted again.

“So,” Cara said lightly, stabbing at the noodles with her fork, “do you just carry around little tokens to give to girls, or is this a special occasion?”

The Masked Man tilted his head toward her, unreadable. “I only give things to people who see me.”

Andi looked at him. And for a second, it felt like the mask wasn't there at all.

Cara’s smile faltered.

Later, as they were walking back, she bumped Andi’s shoulder, not gently.

“What was that?” she muttered.

“What was what?” Andi replied, playing dumb.

Cara didn’t say anything. But she didn’t smile again for the rest of the walk.

Cara hadn’t meant to care that much.

At first, the Masked Man was just another curiosity — the kind of weird mystery that made life feel cinematic. She thought of him like a character in some arthouse film: haunting, quiet, inexplicably magnetic. But now, that feeling had started to rot inside her.

Andi was changing.

Or maybe not. Maybe she was just finally being obvious about what she wanted.

Cara sat on the edge of her bed that night, scrolling through photos on her phone. She didn’t have any of him — of course not — but the pictures from the art fair were enough. Andi smiling, sunlight on her face, that stupid little charm tucked into her necklace chain now like it had meaning.

He gave it to her. Not to both of them. Not to Cara.

That smile he gave her, too — the way he turned his head just slightly whenever Andi spoke. Cara saw it. She saw all of it.

It wasn’t fair.

She had always been the one people noticed first. Brighter. Louder. The one who made friends quickly, the one guys leaned toward at parties. Andi was quieter. Steadier. The kind of pretty people didn’t always click right away. But now? Now he only looked at her.

Cara hated that it bothered her.

But it did.

She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, chewing on the inside of her cheek. That stupid mask. The way it never changed expression, but somehow still felt like it did. Like it was watching. Smiling. Choosing.

She didn’t trust him.

Not really.

But the worst part was… she didn’t care. Even if he was dangerous — even if he was something else entirely—she still wanted him to look at her the way he looked at Andi.

Andi, who kept pretending she wasn’t affected. Who kept trying to act like this whole thing was still some fun, strange, mysterious coincidence?

But Cara saw her eyes when he was near. The way her voice changed. The way she leaned forward when he spoke.

She’d felt that first — that pull, that magnetic pull to his voice and his presence and the way he made the world seem slower when he was near.

And now Andi was trying to steal that from her, like she always did. Quietly. Sweetly. The perfect friend.

Cara rolled onto her side and stared at the glow of the moon out her window.

She hoped he would come back again soon.

But next time? She’d be ready.

Part 1

Beneath the Mask

The cicadas hummed loudly in the late summer dusk as Andi steered her beat-up Subaru down the winding road back to campus. The weekend had left the car cluttered with empty snack wrappers, blankets, and a faint scent of smoke clinging to their hair and clothes — remnants of campfire stories and cheap beer by the lake.

Cara sat shotgun, her bare feet propped on the dashboard, scrolling through the blurry photos on her phone. She looked up and grinned at Andi. “I still can’t believe you fell in,” she teased, tapping a photo of Andi mid-splash, arms flailing, mouth wide with laughter.

“I didn’t fall. I was pushed,” Andi shot back, flicking her best friend’s arm playfully. The road was darkening ahead, tall trees looming on either side.

“It was probably a ghost, huh?” Cara said in a spooky voice. They’d spent half the nights scaring each other with urban legends about the woods — ghost campers, witches, a man with a silver mask who stalked the forest in search of lost girls.

“Please,” Andi scoffed. “You screamed louder than I did when that branch snapped last night.”

They both laughed, the kind of laugh that only comes from years of friendship — the kind that’s seen heartbreaks and birthdays, secrets whispered on dorm beds, and promises that nothing would ever come between them.

As they rounded a curve, Andi slowed. There, on the side of the road, stood a figure. A man. Tall, still as a statue. A mask — pale, expressionless — covered his face, catching the glare of their headlights.

Cara leaned forward. “What the hell — do you see that?”

Andi’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Probably some drunk idiot from the campsite.”

But the man didn’t move. He just watched them — or at least, they imagined he did. Behind the mask, his eyes were lost to the shadows.

“Should we stop?” Cara whispered.

“No way,” Andi said. She pressed the gas, but as they passed, the man turned his head, following them with an unsettling slowness. In the rearview mirror, Andi caught a final glimpse: the Masked Man standing alone on the road, half-lit by moonlight, as if he’d been waiting for them all along.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the drive. But somewhere deep inside, a small seed took root — a thrill, a fear, a fascination neither of them would admit. It would be days before they saw him again. And when they did, they’d learn he hadn’t stumbled into their lives by chance.

The campus was coming back to life after the summer lull. Andi and Cara wove through clusters of returning students lugging boxes into dorms, parents arguing about parking permits, and underclassmen hugging goodbye like they’d never see each other again.

Classes wouldn’t start for another week, but Andi and Cara liked to get back early — it gave them time to breathe before the crush of lectures, deadlines, and awkward run-ins with exes in the quad.

That afternoon, they decided to treat themselves: iced coffees in hand, they strolled across the sunlit park behind the student center. The sky was cloudless, the air sticky with August heat. Laughter drifted from the volleyball courts where a few early arrivals were already playing pick-up games.

They were halfway across the green when Cara stopped short. “Is that—?” she murmured.

Andi followed her gaze. By the fountain, half hidden in the shade of a broad oak, stood the man from the road. Same tall frame. Same mask — bone-white, smooth, almost featureless but for the eye holes and the faint impression of lips pressed into a subtle smile.

He was feeding the pigeons.

They both stared. He looked oddly serene in the midday sun, tossing crumbs to the birds flocking around his boots like he belonged there, like he was just another artsy kid with a weird sense of style.

Cara nudged Andi. “Come on. Let’s talk to him.”

Andi laughed, a bit too loudly. “Are you nuts?”

But Cara was already crossing the grass, curiosity outpacing her caution. Andi hesitated, then followed.

Up close, the Masked Man’s presence felt even stranger. His clothes were simple: black jeans, a gray T-shirt, battered boots. The mask looked handmade — porcelain maybe, a crack running from the left eye down to the cheekbone.

“Hey,” Cara called out. Her voice came out lighter than she intended. “We saw you the other night. On the road near Pine Hollow.”

The man didn’t flinch. He looked at them — or they felt like he did—then tilted his head, as if studying them. A low, pleasant voice came from behind the mask. “I remember.”

Andi stepped in, folding her arms. “What were you doing out there? You nearly gave us a heart attack.”

The Masked Man’s laugh was soft, gentle, almost musical. “I like the woods. Sometimes I watch the stars.”

Cara’s lips parted. There was something magnetic about him — or maybe it was the mystery of not knowing what lay behind the mask. She forced a smile. “You just… wear that all the time?”

“Only when I’m out,” he said. He tossed another handful of crumbs, watching the birds fight over them. “People see the mask and think they know something about me. It keeps them honest.”

Andi rolled her eyes. “That’s… deep.”

He chuckled again. “I’m harmless. You have nothing to fear from me.”

Cara stepped closer. “What should we call you?”

The Masked Man paused, as if tasting the question. “For now… call me whatever you like.”

Cara exchanged a glance with Andi. “How about… the Masked Man?”

He dipped his head, as if bowing to the idea. “As you wish.”

A silence fell. Students walked by, shooting curious glances at the trio by the fountain, but nobody stopped. For a moment, in the bright summer sun, it all felt innocent — a curious, chance meeting with a stranger who was more odd than menacing.

Cara’s smile widened. “Well, Masked Man, maybe we’ll see you around.”

He nodded. “You will.”

As they turned to leave, Andi felt his gaze linger on her back — a warmth that should have felt comforting but instead made her skin prickle. She didn’t look back. Neither did Cara. Not then.

But they both knew they’d find an excuse to see him again.

Three nights later, the campus was buzzing with new arrivals. The air smelled like fresh-cut grass and stale pizza, the soundtrack of returning students echoing through open dorm windows.

Andi and Cara had spent the afternoon unpacking, blasting music, and gossiping about who was back and who wasn’t. By the time the sun dipped below the trees, they were starving.

“Thai food?” Cara suggested, twirling her keys on her finger.

Andi rolled her eyes as she pulled on her jean jacket. “As long as you don’t hog all the dumplings this time.”

They laughed their way down the block, falling back into the easy rhythm of years spent side by side. The night was warm and alive — porch lights glowing, crickets chirping. Neither of them mentioned the Masked Man, though he’d been drifting through both their thoughts in quiet moments: the way he stood so still, that voice so calm and careful.

Halfway down Pine Street, Cara froze. Andi almost crashed into her.

“What—”

“There,” Cara whispered, nodding toward the alley beside the old record shop.

He was there — the Masked Man — sitting on the curb under a flickering streetlight, knees bent, mask turned up to the sky. A stray cat slinked around his ankles. He looked so perfectly out of place it made Andi’s stomach flip.

“Okay, that’s… weird, right?” Andi said, but Cara was already moving.

“Hey!” Cara called, stepping off the sidewalk. “We keep running into you.”

The Masked Man lowered his head slowly. “Or maybe I keep running into you.”

He sounded amused. Playful, even. The cat brushed against his leg, purring.

Andi stood back with her arms crossed. “You just hang out in alleys now?”

“Quiet places help me think,” he said, tone so matter-of-fact it was almost charming. “Too much noise drowns out the good thoughts.”

Cara crouched near him, ignoring the grime on the curb. “What are you thinking about?”

He shrugged. “How the moon looks different every night. How people wear their own masks long before they ever meet me.”

Cara laughed softly, intrigued by the way he spoke like every sentence was a secret. Andi felt it too — the pull. But she didn’t want to admit it.

“You want to come with us?” Cara asked suddenly. “We’re getting dinner.”

Andi shot her a sharp look, but the Masked Man tilted his head, considering. “Dinner?”

“You eat, don’t you?” Cara teased.

Behind the mask, they could almost hear a smile in his voice. “Sometimes.”

He rose to his feet in one smooth motion, dusting off his jeans. The cat meowed and darted away into the shadows.

“Okay,” Andi said, trying to sound casual. “But you’re not sitting next to me.”

He chuckled low. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

So they walked together down Pine Street: two college girls and a man with no face, the neon lights of their favorite Thai place glowing in the distance. Strangely, with him in the soft pool of streetlights, laughter drifting from passing bars, it almost felt… normal. Almost

The little Thai place was half-hidden behind a row of overgrown shrubs and an old neon sign that buzzed like a broken cicada. It wasn’t fancy, but it was their spot — the kind of hole-in-the-wall that knew Cara’s weird no-onion request and Andi’s extra-chili obsession by heart.

Inside, it was warm and bright, a hum of chatter and clinking silverware. The Masked Man drew curious glances as the hostess led them to a corner booth. Cara slid in first, grinning like they’d brought an exotic pet to dinner. Andi sank in next to her, arms folded.

He sat opposite them, folding his hands neatly on the table. Up close, the mask looked older than they’d thought — little hairline cracks like veins under the glaze.

The waitress came by with water and a cautious smile. “What’ll it be?”

Cara ordered her usual pad see ew with extra veggies. Andi got drunken noodles, extra spicy. When the waitress turned to the Masked Man, she faltered.

He cocked his head politely. “What do you recommend?”

The girl blinked, flustered. “Uh… green curry? Or the satay.”

“Both,” he said. “Thank you.”

When she scurried off, Andi couldn’t help but smirk. “Big appetite for a guy who just sits in alleys feeding cats.”

He laughed — soft and warm. “I have to eat eventually.”

Cara leaned in. “So… do you ever take it off? The mask.”

“In private,” he said, with that same calm tone that made everything sound reasonable. “We all take our masks off when no one’s watching.”

The way he said it gave Andi a shiver, but she didn’t show. Cara’s eyes glittered. She twirled her straw between her fingers. “Where are you from?”

“Nowhere special.”

“What do you do?” she pressed.

He shrugged. “Whatever I need to.”

Andi rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Or honest,” he countered. His gaze flicked from Andi to Cara and back. “Most people don’t really want the truth. It’s heavy.”

The food came quickly, steaming and fragrant. They ate, trying not to stare but unable to help themselves. He lifted the bottom of the mask just enough to slip bites underneath — no more than a glimpse of a strong chin, pale skin, the shadow of a mouth. It was maddening, like a puzzle missing its final piece.

But he was polite. He asked about their classes, their plans, and their favorite spots on campus. He laughed at Cara’s dumb jokes and didn’t flinch when Andi pushed back at his cryptic answers.

By the time the plates were scraped clean, Cara felt like they’d floated through a dream. Andi, for all her wariness, couldn’t deny she was drawn in too — if only to figure him out, to catch a crack in the calm.

When the check came, Andi reached for her purse, but the Masked Man was faster. He took the bill, sliding two crisp twenties and a few small bills across the table.

“Hey —” Andi protested. “We didn’t ask you to—”

He lifted a hand. “I wanted to.”

Cara beamed. “Thank you. That’s… really sweet.”

“Consider it a thank-you,” he said, standing as they did, the mask catching the warm glow of the hanging lamps. “For letting me join you.”

Andi narrowed her eyes. “What are you thanking us for, exactly?”

He tilted his head again — that uncanny, almost childlike gesture. “For reminding me what it feels like.”

“What what feels like?” Cara asked.

He stepped aside as the waitress cleared their table, his eyes lost in the shadowed holes of the mask. “To be… normal.”

Andi shivered again, but Cara only giggled nervously. Outside, the night had grown darker, the streetlamps flickering on one by one.

“See you around?” Cara asked, hopeful.

The Masked Man didn’t answer — not really. He just inclined his head, then drifted off into the shadows like smoke, leaving Cara and Andi alone on the sidewalk, full of noodles and something else: a low, buzzing sense that they’d just agreed to step inside a story they didn’t fully understand.