Her shadow caressed the surface of the wall, inch by inch, before disappearing around the corner.

He chased her image still stuck on the back of his eyelids seconds before she turned around the street. But not even her scent lingered on. He was unable to catch even the first syllable of her name.

Usually, in the confidence of his shadowless figure, when for a few minutes which would feel like an eternity, he would appreciate a feisty shadow, like the one Peter Pan always fights with…maybe then he would be able to kill the void created by his invisibility. Did she see him, as she turned the corner click-clacking with her lollipop-red shoes (which she only wears when she is in a bad mood, perhaps to assume a grander position of status and self-esteem)?

If only he could see her and talk to her…If only her walls were a bit more brighter than that (dark colors are claustrophobic, or so he thinks). But then again, he is not sure how she should take this, what if he scared the living life out of her? what would he do then?

He doesn’t know much about her, other than the fact that she spends most of her days and nights plastered in front of her laptop typing God knows what sort of gibberish. He also noted that she drinks coffee from a flask or a thermos as she calls it. He kind of liked it, it had some sort of a metallic ambiance to it. When she smokes, which she rarely does, she smokes too slow, as if with class, but she is not that elegant. More like casual and comfortable. Black leather jacket with a hoodie around her neck, and pale blue jeans. Her red boots looked rather absurd, but the kind of absurd he likes. She rarely goes out, except to visit one or two friends, or go shopping. Discreet, composed, angry, and solitary, just what he needs.

Don’t judge him too harshly, he is not a freak, nor is he a sadistic stalker.

Kareem simply wants a word.