She had no idea I was watching her. Granted, I was engaged in my own business and it wasn’t like I was staring, but I could tell by watching her that she worked very hard to be invisible and she likely assumed her cloaking device was operating at full efficiency. All it really did, however, was keep her from seeing me see her.
She wore nondescript jeans and shoes and an oversized sweatshirt. Her medium brown hair had absolutely no style whatsoever—no cut, no color, not even a solidly placed part. She wore no makeup, no jewelry.
She told the tech she wanted glasses with darker frames. But I watched as she narrowed her choices to three pairs of very neutral frames about the same color as her hair, all of them with similarly shaped rectangle lenses that didn’t particularly flatter her, though they didn’t look terrible, either. She rejected any frame with color or shape or trim that hinted at individuality or creativity or fashionability.
She needed the glasses to see, but she clearly had no desire to be seen. Every bit of color and fire, every scrap of personality in her was kept locked up tightly so that nothing in her appearance would hint at what was inside of that wiry little package.
But like I said, I was watching her. And I saw much more than she could have known, had she realized that her cloaking device was little more than plastic wrap to me.