They did not plan to meet.
Doyun realized this immediately, and the realization mattered. If the moment had been arranged, he could have dismissed it as coincidence or habit. But there was no shared routine here, no reason their paths should intersect.
And yet, they did.
The building was old, its entrance recessed slightly from the street. People passed by without noticing the shallow steps that dipped inward before the door. It was the kind of place that absorbed movement, softened it.
Doyun stood near the edge of the entrance, close enough to feel the space change, far enough not to block it.
The sensation arrived unevenly.
Not a tightening. Not yet.
He adjusted his stance, lowering his center of gravity just enough to steady the dull ache behind his eyes. The headache from the past few days had become familiar, a quiet presence rather than an intrusion.
Then he felt it.
Alignment.
Someone else had stepped into the equation.
Across the entrance, slightly higher on the steps, she stood.
She was not looking at him.
Her attention rested on the space between them, unfocused but intent, as if she were listening for something beneath the surface noise of the street.
Doyun did not move.
Neither did she.
The space hesitated.
People approaching the entrance slowed without realizing it. A man checked the address on his phone twice before stepping forward. A pair of coworkers stopped short, their conversation trailing off as they recalculated their path.
The tightening split.
Doyun felt one pull, subtle and inward, encouraging him to remain where he was. A different tension traced outward, bending around her position, widening the path she occupied.
It shouldn't have been possible.
The space could not resolve two centers at once.
He shifted his weight, just a fraction, testing the response.
The reaction was immediate—and wrong.
The flow destabilized.
Someone stumbled on the shallow step, catching themselves with a sharp intake of breath. Another person halted abruptly, forcing those behind to stop as well. The entrance clogged, movement compressing without direction.
Doyun's pulse spiked.
She moved at the same time.
Not toward him. Not away.
She stepped laterally, choosing a position that cut across his line of influence. The moment she did, the space reacted again, recalculating.
The congestion loosened.
Movement resumed, uneven but intact.
Doyun exhaled slowly.
They had not cooperated. They had interfered.
She glanced at him then.
Only briefly. No recognition. No challenge. Her expression remained neutral, unreadable, as if confirming a measurement rather than acknowledging a person.
Then she turned and walked away.
The sensation followed her for a step, two, then fractured and dissolved.
Doyun remained where he was until the entrance returned to normal.
When he finally moved, the headache flared, sharp enough to make him pause. He leaned against the wall, waiting for the dizziness that did not come.
This was worse.
He replayed the moment in his mind.
The split. The instability. The way the space had resisted them both.
If he had stayed alone, the adjustment would have held.
If she had been alone, perhaps it would have resolved differently.
Together, they had created interference.
That night, Doyun reviewed the day without writing.
The memory refused to settle into a single interpretation. Each time he traced the sequence, the emphasis shifted. Sometimes her position felt intrusive. Sometimes his own stance felt unnecessary.
He could not determine which of them had been wrong.
The realization unsettled him more than the headache.
On his way home, he detoured past the building again.
She was not there.
The entrance behaved normally. People flowed in and out with minor, forgettable adjustments. Nothing lingered.
Doyun stood across the street and watched.
Alone, the space responded predictably.
He turned away.
For the first time, he considered a possibility that had not occurred to him before.
Seeing the same moment did not mean sharing the same structure.
And standing together might make things worse.