The first few evenings she always chose the same table in the restaurant,  a table in the back, in a dark corner, sipping at a glass of whisky and reading the book she always carried with her. She did not talk to anyone. It seemed as if she was hiding and she did not want to be recognized.

After a few days, she joined a group of students. She would sit with them, casually putting her book on the table, upside down. She just listened, with a straight back and a faint smile, silent and distant. There was nothing in her gaze or pose that indicated whether or not she was interested in what was being said. She was an anonymous attendee. One of those people who are not mentioned in the captions of photographs.

Everything that made her invisible to others drew my attention. Her shyness, her slow movements, her modest smile, her straight back and elegant hands with long fingers and shiny nails. But above all, it was her inconspicuousness.

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