Sometimes life introduces us to people in the most unexpected ways - on a crowded street, in a café corner, during a long bus ride, or even on random apps like OmeTV. Real life or online, it doesn't matter. Strangers appear for only a few minutes, but somehow their presence feels more honest than people who've known me for years.
I think I’ve always been drawn to strangers. Maybe because with them, I can finally breathe. I don’t have to adjust my tone, my face, my energy. I don’t have to pretend to be “fine.”
Because the truth is - I don't like small talk. I don't enjoy random waves or forced "hi"s when I walk past people I know. They make me feel like I'm performing a version of myself I don't relate to anymore.
But with strangers, there's no performance. No history. No expectation. Just a moment that's allowed to be real. And maybe that's why I travel a lot, mostly alone. No attachments. No expectations. Just me, new places, and temporary faces that don't follow me back into my life.
That's also where my unsaid rule began: no contacts, no phone numbers, no socials, no staying in touch. I let moments end where they end. I let people go even if a small part of me wishes I didn't have to.
One night on OmeTV, after skipping through the usual noise, I matched with a girl whose eyes looked like they were holding back something she didn't have words for. Our conversation wasn't planned, but it felt strangely safe - like two tired souls accidentally meeting at the same emotional doorway.
She shared things she probably never told anyone close to her - pain that had settled deep, disappointments that still haunted her, the loneliness she carried quietly behind her smile. There was something fragile in the way she spoke, something soft that made me slow down internally.
I listened - not out of curiosity, but because a part of me understood the weight of unspoken things. When the silence between us finally softened, she asked if there was any way to stay in touch - a number, an Instagram, anything.
She was cute - not in a loud way, but in the quiet honesty of trusting a stranger with her truth. For a second I wanted to bend the rule. But she was still a stranger, and breaking that rule would have changed everything - the purity, the meaning, the moment.
So I didn't. I couldn't. When the screen went black it felt like someone gently closing a door I wasn't ready to step away from. It hurt more than I expected - a small, tender ache that stayed behind.
And it wasn't just her. Across buses, airports, hostels, late-night streets, and random screens, I've met people who left quiet marks on me - people who reminded me that even temporary connections can shift something inside.
Maybe that's what I'm really chasing - not permanence, not promises, just truth. Moments that arrive softly, stay briefly, and leave a warmth behind. Because even though I avoid small talk and forced greetings, I crave that rare, raw honesty of strangers - the kind that reaches places in me I don't let familiar people touch.
And maybe...
just maybe... there will be a day when one stranger feels a little too familiar, and I finally break my own rule.