Sometimes wisdom is refusing to turn incomplete information into a complete story.

You are handed fragments and your mind delivers a finished narrative, complete with motives and a moral. The gaps get filled with whatever is nearby: your mood, your history, your worst suspicion. Nothing announces the seams afterward, so the invented parts feel exactly as solid as the observed ones. Most confident misunderstandings of other people are built this way.

When you notice a story forming, separate the pieces you actually witnessed from the connective tissue you supplied. Say the observed parts aloud and let the rest sit as open questions. If it matters, ask. A short awkward question undoes a great deal of invented plot.