He stops by to see her, not knowing why, and she stares and sees in. It irritates him. He fidgets. Why does he come to see her?
She knows he is not so complex, and it upsets him. He cannot, cannot believe that this is all there is to him. He wants desperately to believe he is uncommon. But she stares and sees in. And she knows.
He doesn't want to be known. He wants to be as special as the people he keeps around him like to tell him he is. But she knows better. And he keeps stopping by to see her, not knowing why.
She doesn't speak. She doesn't have to. She stares and sees in, right through him because he is that thin. It is all surface and she reads him like a paperback book. Not even the kind you keep but the kind you take to the used book store and exchange.