Chapter 3: Faint Traces

  Oweis arrived in Vigo after a long journey by plane and train. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, casting a faint golden hue over the ancient buildings and the pier. The cool air carried the scent of the sea mingled with the dampness of fallen leaves.

  He rented a small apartment in a relatively quiet neighborhood, away from the city center's bustle. It had a balcony overlooking a narrow, tree-lined street where pedestrians moved at a slower pace than he was used to back home. The building was made of red brick; its windows looked old but maintained a classic charm.

  Standing at his doorway, Oweis took a quick survey of the street. The building was aged, the balconies close together, and the neighborhood peaceful. People passed with a steady gait, cars moved without haste, and everything felt organized in a way that differed fundamentally from the city he had left behind.

  He didn't waste time indulging in details. He brought his bags inside, scanned the space, and ensured everything was functional: the bed, the desk, the small kitchen, and the bathroom. He arranged his belongings quickly, as if testing the place as a base of operations rather than just an apartment to live in.

  After settling the essentials, Oweis headed out. The air was cold, the sea was near, and the salty breeze reached him even here, grounding him in his new reality: here, he would start over. Here, he would build a new routine. There was no time for contemplation; he was planning, observing, and deciding his routes, knowing that every small step was vital to building a life far removed from the past.

  After a few days of settling in, Oweis decided to explore further. He headed out in the morning toward Rúa do Príncipe, the main commercial artery in the heart of Vigo. Glass storefronts reflected the light, and small cafes lined the sidewalks, emitting the scent of fresh coffee and baked bread. The rhythmic movement of the crowds gave him a sense of the city's daily pulse.

  He stopped at a small cafe, took a seat at an outdoor table, and ordered a coffee. He watched the passersby: office workers walking briskly, families chatting quietly while shopping. His sense of belonging wasn't complete yet, but he was beginning to touch the edges of the city's routine

  Several days later, with the start of the semester at the University of Vigo:

  Inside the lecture hall, Oweis kept his eyes anchored to the desk, trying to steady the room’s occasional tremors. He sensed a shadow approaching and clenched his fist tight, fearing the onset of a new "overlap."

  "Is this seat taken?"

  Oweis lifted his head slowly. A young man stood there, possessing sharp features and a calm, easy smile. Oweis didn’t answer immediately; he waited a heartbeat longer than necessary to ensure the stranger was "real" and not just another glitch in his perception.

  "No... go ahead."

  The young man sat down. "I’m Matthias," he said. "You look like you're in the middle of a war with that desk. You alright?"

  That spontaneous remark shattered the silence, forcing a strained smile from Oweis just before Adrian joined them from the row behind.

  The conversation began lightly, drifting through talk of course materials, the best corners of the library, and where to find a decent meal on campus. There was no pressure—just the logical start of a connection, a natural sense of belonging in a new place. It felt like a true first step into a life far removed from the past.

  Over the past three months, Oweis had learned how to ignore the flickers that danced in the periphery of his vision. But he had yet to master how to ignore the headache—the sharp, pulsing warning that always preceded the moments where reality began to fray.

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  Oweis sat in his seat, his eyes fixed on the first page of his textbook, but his mind was miles away. He was preoccupied with the upcoming exam and the sections he hadn't reviewed yet. His only wish was for the test to be canceled, even if it was just a faint, desperate hope buried deep inside him.

  Suddenly, Dr. Karl stopped mid-explanation and looked up with a smile.

  "I wanted to inform you that today’s midterm will not be held. We are postponing it to a later date. I will provide the details soon."

  Oweis froze for a moment, watching the students around him. A collective sigh swept through the hall, a sudden wave of relief making the air feel lighter. No one laughed or exchanged looks, but the entire atmosphere shifted instantly—smoothly and naturally, in a way they had never felt before.

  Oweis shivered slightly, his heart hammering. It wasn't just typical joy at the news. He felt—without a doubt—that something within him, something he wasn't yet conscious of, had made the decision seem logical to the professor, as if cancellation was the only possible outcome.

  He sat in silence, realizing for the first time that what others perceived could change without their awareness—and that he was, somehow, the catalyst behind it. His intention hadn't been clear, but he felt the weight of his influence; subtle, yet real.

  Outside the University – After Lectures

  Students poured out of the building—some laughing, some complaining about the postponement, others buried in their phones. A standard post-lecture scene.

  Oweis walked among them with steady steps, but the space around him felt different. The students near him seemed unusually calm. Brief complaints and laughter faded quickly, as if a wave of tranquility had passed over them and settled for no apparent reason.

  A girl who had been grumbling a moment ago suddenly stopped, smiling unconsciously as she continued on her way. Two young men discussing the difficulty of the course lowered their voices gradually and changed the subject without noticing.

  There was no abrupt halt in movement, no eerie stillness—just a slight shift in the general mood, confined to a small circle around Oweis.

  Oweis felt a dull pressure in his head, as if something internal had been consumed without his permission. He pressed his temple for a moment and kept walking, aware that what had happened in the lecture hall hadn't stayed there.

  Professor Hanser stood near the side entrance, a folder tucked under his arm, watching the students leave as he did at the end of every day. He wasn’t waiting for anyone in particular—just allowing himself a moment of quiet after the noise had faded.

  Something felt wrong.

  Not in the hallway, but inside him.

  A vague, unsettling sense that he had forgotten something important—though he couldn’t say what.

  Almost instinctively, he took out his notebook and opened it to a blank page. He wrote without much thought:

  “End of the lecture. Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as I can tell.”

  He paused, reread the line, then added beneath it:

  “Persistent sense of distraction. Cause unclear.”

  He closed the notebook quickly, as if lingering on the words might give them more weight than they deserved.

  Lifting his head, he resumed watching the corridor. He noticed a student pause briefly, pressing his fingers to his temple before moving on. Hanser didn’t dwell on it, nor did he try to interpret what he’d seen.

  There were things more urgent than observing others—things that couldn’t be seen at all.

  Dr. Karl passed by and stopped for a moment.

  “Finished?”

  “Yes,” Hanser replied evenly.

  Karl’s gaze flicked to the notebook in Hanser’s hand, then to his face. He didn’t ask anything. A short nod was all he offered before walking away.

  Hanser remained where he was for a few seconds longer. He closed the notebook—then opened it again.

  He wasn’t looking for an explanation. Only for certainty.

  He wrote the note, as he always did, then closed the page without hesitation.

  Oweis’s Apartment – Later

  Oweis sat before his computer, the screen glowing aimlessly, his fingers still over the keyboard. He wasn't trying to find a precise explanation or a logical cause. He simply replayed the moment in his mind, exactly as it was, without adding to it.

  The exam was canceled. The hall grew calm. And he had emerged with a heavy head.

  He felt neither fear nor shock. Only a vague sense that what had occurred was not as detached from him as he wanted to believe. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them slowly.

  "I'll just watch," he whispered to himself, devoid of emotion. "Nothing more."

  He shut down the computer and stood up. That was enough for tonight.

  To be continued...