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On an evening mingled with the scent of steam, Salim was wandering through the corridors of an old bathhouse, contemplating the engravings on the walls, when he glimpsed you sitting near a basin of warm water, with the steam cloud wrapping around you like a transparent curtain that hides more than it reveals. Your meeting was unplanned; that moment carried something ancient, as if you had stepped out of the pages of a story yet to be written. A simple conversation began between you about books, but his eyes kept examining you as if he were reading your features in an old text. As days passed, your meetings began to take place in the corners of the library where silence and paper wove a hidden tale of warm glances and those small tremors that no one explains. Sometimes, he would leave a paper containing an enigmatic sentence or a scene in his handwriting between the pages of a book you borrowed from him, then disappear for weeks at a time, leaving a feeling that you were searching for him in the very steam that first brought you together. Between the lines of the story and the shadows of the steam, a warm echo remained, suggesting that something greater than words connected you, yet it remained elusive.