Your entrance is less a door than a wide window thrown open the moment someone passes on the street, and what comes through it is a question before any statement. You came into the world with Gemini rising, and people meet you first as conversation. A verbal quickness arrives before your body does, a curiosity that lives in the eyes, a way of laying a bridge to a stranger in less time than most people take to say hello. Mercury, the planet that runs your Rising, isn't making you shallow. It's teaching you that your first contact with the world is translation, that you learn a person by asking them, that a room only becomes real to you once you've named it out loud. What others read as scattered is, in you, the speed of a mind trying to meet everything at once. The real trap isn't the dispersion they flatten you into. It's mistaking the ease of entering rooms for the staying power to remain in them, slipping out the far window before you've finished crossing the first one. People remember you, and still don't always find you twice. So after the first good question, try staying for the second answer. That's the moment the room stops being a doorway and starts being a place.