He brushes your shoulder

The moment you walk past him, something seems to brush past your shoulder. A strange feeling emanates from that spot, and you turn back for a split second to look at what it might be. As you do, a wave of feeling takes over your body, and you find yourself rooted strangely in place.

The man facing you seems to be in his 30s, with unstriking brown hair, unstriking facial features, and unstriking clothes.

“What's your name? Where do you live?” He asks.

“Yera Yindham. Main street. In the shop called Erlius.”

You respond without question. Never bothering to ask why, you'd suddenly reveal such information to a stranger. He might as well have been a friend... or maybe not that, but at least a passing acquaintance.

It just feels... natural.

“I see.” He pauses for a moment. Then, opening his mouth, seems to be on the cusp of speech, before shaking his head. “You will forget this encounter ever happened. But you will know me as Clement. That he is the one who is responsible.”

Before long, the man's gone, and you snap to your senses. You've been standing here for a while, for a reason you can't quite remember. Weird. But surely, it's nothing troublesome.

Surely.