He arrived confident, as always. He believed he would be in control of the situation—until she opened the door. Her gaze didn't ask permission; it simply pierced him. "Today, you don't speak. You only listen," she said, in a calm, almost sweet tone, but impossible to contradict. He tried to respond, but a simple gesture of her hand silenced him. There were no shouts, no orders. Only pauses. She approached slowly, letting the air weigh between them, each step a provocation. He, accustomed to controlling everything, realized that now he was the one obeying—without understanding why. "It's not about strength," she murmured, close to his ear. "It's about knowing when not to use it." With each word, he surrendered a little more. Not out of submission, but because, for the first time, someone saw inside him—and knew exactly where to touch without actually touching. The silence became the battlefield. And she, with just a look, won.