The next morning, the city greeted me without mercy.
The sun was already high, and the noise from the street below my window felt louder than the night before. I barely slept. My mind refused to rest, replaying old memories I had promised myself I was done with.
I needed air. And coffee.
I slipped into a simple dress, tied my hair into a loose bun, and stepped outside. The streets were alive—vendors calling out, cars squeezing through impossible spaces, people moving with confidence I wished I had. I found a small café tucked between two buildings. It wasn't fancy, but it felt warm. Safe.
I ordered a coffee I could barely pronounce and chose a table near the window. As I reached into my bag to pay, my fingers froze.
My wallet was gone.
My heart dropped.
"No… no, no," I whispered, digging through my bag again. Nothing.
"I must have left it at home," I said to myself, panic rising in my chest. I looked at the counter, then at the door. Leaving without paying felt wrong, but staying felt worse.
"I can put it back," I told the barista quickly. "I'm so sorry."
Before she could respond, a calm voice spoke behind me.
"It's fine. I'll pay."
I turned.
He was tall, dressed simply, but there was something about him—quiet confidence, sharp eyes that seemed to notice everything. He held out his card like this was the most normal thing in the world.
"You don't have to," I said quickly.
"I know," he replied. "But I want to."
Reluctantly , I let him pay. When I turned back to him, embarrassment burned my cheeks.
"Thank you," I said. "I swear I'm not usually this irresponsible."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "First days in a new city can be rough."
My eyes widened. "How did you—
"You have that look," he said. "Lost, but pretending you're not."
I laughed softly despite myself. "Is it that obvious?"
"To someone who's been there," he said.
We stood in silence for a moment, the kind that felt strangely comfortable.
"I'm—" I started, then stopped. Did I really need to introduce myself to a stranger.
He noticed my hesitation. "You don't have to."
"Thank you," I said, grateful.
I picked up my coffee and moved toward an empty table. He surprised me by joining me without asking.
"I hope you don't mind," he said.
I should have said yes. I should have protected my heart.
Instead, I shook my head. "I don't."
We talked about small things—the city, the café, how overwhelming change could be. He didn't ask too much, and somehow, that made me want to tell him more.
When I finally stood to leave, my heart felt lighter than it had in weeks.
"I owe you," I said.
He met my eyes, his expression unreadable. "No. Let's call it fate."
I smiled politely, but inside, something stirred—something dangerous.
As I walked away, one thought followed me like a warning I refused to listen to:
I had just met someone who could change everything.