Uninterested

No glance. No nod. Just two people moving through the same space, as if the other didn’t exist.

This was taken on a beach that should have felt wide open, maybe even freeing—but something about the moment made it feel small, enclosed. The boy looks down at his phone. The girl walks past him, eyes fixed forward. Neither slows. Neither turns. They’re metres apart, yet orbiting separate worlds.

I didn’t ask for this scene. It unfolded on its own. A brief choreography of disconnection. Their postures say enough: one drawn into a screen, the other into her own stride. There’s no hostility here—just absence. A quiet kind of loneliness, the kind that doesn’t announce itself.

The sea in the background is still, almost featureless. The sky dull, the sand stamped down by countless other footsteps. Everything seems muted, but not accidental. Like the world decided to whisper while these two walked through it unaware of each other.

We often think of solitude as something private. But sometimes, it’s what happens between people.