When two strangers share the same energy, intuition stirs between them. And so longing
arrives — that first spark of love making itself known. When a noun becomes a verb, when
memory becomes the act of remembering, something emerges that is felt with perfect clarity
yet dissolves the moment it is spoken aloud.
The noise of all these words confounded her. Sandra had run out of meaning, unable to
translate what remained — or what had gone empty. What was captivating and full of
impression, or what had been erased without leaving a single trace behind.
• •
In a busy city office, employees streamed out of the meeting room and scattered across the
workspace, each one drifting back to their own desk.
"San, have you drafted the invitation for the partner gathering yet?" Anna asked, setting her laptop on the desk, pulling out her chair, and sitting down.
"It's taken care of," Sandra replied, settling in beside her. She placed a folder on the desk
and nudged the mouse, coaxing the computer screen back to life.
"Ugh, what a headache. The boss just asked for a new live selling script." Anna suddenly
felt exhausted. "I've been here so long and my salary hasn't moved an inch. And you —
you've been here even longer and you're perfectly content." She rolled her chair sideways
with her foot. "You're crushing on someone from another division, aren't you?" she teased.
"What sane person would fall for a coworker? If it's not a taken man, the best you can hope
for is a one-night stand," Sandra smirked, her gaze fixed on the screen.
"Fair point." Anna nodded, then pushed her chair back to the desk. "Heeee—" She
stretched her arms above her head, surrendering to the day's exhaustion.
"By the way, what should I get Dean as a gift? Lately he's been obsessed with anything
automotive. Almost every weekend it's the same — he's under a car hood somewhere, even
though he barely knows what he's doing," she murmured to Sandra.
Before Sandra could answer, Anna's phone lit up, vibrating and rattling against the desk.
Sandra glanced at it briefly, then turned back to her screen.Anna reached for it. Dean's name glowed on the screen.
"Yeah?" she said softly, pressing the phone to her ear. "Broke down? ... Not coming for
lunch? ... It's okay ... I'll just order something ... Alright ... see you." She ended the call.
• •
A car crawled along the road, then slowed to a stop and pulled over to the curb. Dean stepped
out, leaving the door open, and walked to the front of the car. He lifted the hood and stared
deep into the engine — the tangle of hoses, the web of wires in all their colors.
"This is the radiator... this is the fan... this is the oil tank..." he muttered, pointing to each in
turn. He reached in, ran his fingers along the hoses and cables, then stepped back, utterly at
a loss.
Without warning, the rumble of a motorcycle pulled up beside his car. A rider in full gear slid
down his visor and called out to him.
"What's wrong, man?" the rider asked, pushing his visor up.
Dean didn't quite catch it. He furrowed his brow. "Sorry?"
The rider pulled off his helmet, stripped off his gloves, and tugged his buff mask down
around his neck.
"Broke down?" he asked.
Dean studied him with quiet caution. There had been too many stories lately of people posing
as Good Samaritans only to rob you blind. He took a careful look. The man was tall, his
eyebrows slightly thick and unruly. He had a firm jaw and a warm, golden-tan complexion
that made his features look even more defined.
"You know anything about engines?" Dean asked, a little uneasily.
"May I have a look?"
"Oh — sure, sure." Dean nodded, stepping aside to give him room, watching from behind.
The man climbed off his motorcycle and leaned over the engine. As Dean watched, he noticed
a small keloid scar just below the man's thumb."Your ignition coil is dead."
"That's what I suspected too. It just cut out all of a sudden." Dean folded his arms across
his chest, absently rubbing one forearm. Slowly, he was beginning to trust that this man
meant him no harm.
"It needs to be replaced," the man said. "Do you have a spare coil? I can put it in for you."
"Ah — no, I don't. Should I just call a mechanic?" Dean asked, apologetic.
"No need. There's a shop not far from here. Try ordering one through an instant delivery
app — I can wait."
"Are you sure it's no trouble?"
"Not at all. The shop's only about fifteen minutes away."
Dean pulled his phone from his pocket and placed the order quickly. A short while later, a
courier arrived and handed him the package. Dean passed the coil straight to the man, who
immediately got to work installing it. Dean climbed back into the car and tried the ignition.
Bruuummmm!
"Rev it!" the man called out.
From inside the car, Dean pressed the pedal. A moment later, he stepped out — the engine
was running again. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, took out a few bills, and held them
out to the man.
"Oh, no, it's fine —"
"Please, it's nothing — just a thank-you for waiting for the part and putting it in. Are you
heading to work? You might be late now."
The man laughed softly. "Relax — I still have an hour. And I happen to love engines. No
trouble at all."
"Thank you!" Dean said again, nodding earnestly.
"No worries."The man raised an eyebrow, then walked back to his motorcycle, pulled on his gloves and
helmet, and started the engine. He gave a short tap of the horn before riding away.
• •
Ten minutes past lunchtime, Sandra twisted her body left and right, then pushed her hips to
the side. A satisfying crack. "Ughh," she murmured. "Let's grab something to eat," she said to
Anna.
"I'm busy," Anna said flatly.
Sandra exhaled. "Alright." She rose from her chair and walked out of the office, making her
way on foot to a coffee shop a few shophouses down from the building.
The café was designed like a bar counter — customers sat directly in front of a long wooden
counter that stretched roughly four meters, facing the barista. Along the sides of the room,
chairs and tables were arranged in a comfortable spread. Sandra stepped up to the counter.
"Yes?" A barista stepped forward, polishing a glass in his hands. His eyes met hers and
softened into a smile as Sandra approached.
"A latte," Sandra said. She returned his look briefly and smiled back, hooking one foot
onto the footrest of the tall stool as she sat down.
"Just a moment." The barista moved to the espresso machine and began grinding the beans.
Sandra let her gaze drift, watching the coffee come to life — and particularly watching the
thing she had always been drawn to: a keloid scar, about three centimeters long, on the
barista's forearm. She had never known its story. A few moments later, he set her order in
front of her.
"Oh — is that a lotus flower?" Sandra asked, studying the design on top of the latte.
The barista furrowed his brow, examined it closely, then laughed. "I think I need to practice
drawing swans again."
"Hm?" Sandra leaned in a little, a small smile playing at her lips, her gaze softening.
The barista turned the cup slowly.
"Does it look more like a swan now?" he asked."A little better," Sandra said, nodding with a small smile.
"Alright, I won't force it." He laughed in resignation. "I suppose I should accept by now
that I can't draw. But if I keep doing hearts, customers will start running — that's what the
owner says every single morning briefing."
Sandra laughed.
"I love watching you work."
A beat of awkwardness swept over her, and she quickly added, "I mean — the way you'd
watch a bricklayer mixing cement. There's something genuinely fascinating about it."
The barista looked at her. "Yeah." He dropped his gaze for a moment, almost shy, then
steadied himself. "Watching people work is wonderful, especially when we were kids." He
smiled. "It makes me think of the time I used to pester my father while he tinkered with
broken appliances. I wasn't helping at all — I was making more work for him. That's how I
got this." He held up his arm and showed her the scar. Sandra looked at it, a quiet smile
crossing her face now that she finally knew the story behind it.
Silently, she felt something warm bloom — the barista was beginning to open up, and in her
own reckoning, this meant that something between them had finally connected. In over two
years of being a loyal customer, this was the first time they had shared small, meaningful
things with each other.
They laughed together.
"By the way — what drew you to this line of work?" Sandra asked, folding her arms on the
counter.
"Umm..." He lifted a shoulder, looking genuinely uncertain.
"What about you?" he asked in return.
Sandra looked at him, then let out a quiet, rueful laugh — at herself. "I think we're not so
different. Both of us, trapped inside a comfort zone." She raised an eyebrow. "Every morning
I wake up thinking about writing a resignation letter — but if I actually wrote it, what would I
do with it? Hand it to HR. And then what? I think I'd spend far longer figuring out what I
want than I would finding a new job."The barista weighed her words and felt something in him knock up against its own logic. "I
feel like I'm saving myself right now. Like I haven't properly considered something in a long
time."
"Someone once told me — an old friend — that success isn't about wealth. It's about
managing to live the life you want, with joy," Sandra said. "What gives you that spark?"
"Spark?" The barista turned the word over slowly in his mind.
"Sometimes, when people follow what they feel, they change almost without realizing it.
That's when they start to look... uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable?"
"Yes — change is always uncomfortable. But when it comes to growth, there's always a
measurable shift. And usually, once people see that shift, they're nothing but glad."
The barista looked at her with a quiet smile, as though a map of old dreams had surfaced —
one he had drawn for himself when he still knew where he was going.
Sandra's phone buzzed. A message appeared on the screen: Get back to the office. The boss
needs the partner gathering invitation.
"I have to go," Sandra said.
Her eyes lingered on the barista, as though she were reluctant to let the conversation end. He
smiled and gave a small nod, though truth be told, he would have liked to keep her there a
little longer. Sandra drew a bill from her wallet, tucked it beneath the coffee cup, and left.
• •
Sandra returned to the office. Twenty minutes later, she walked out of her superior's room and
headed back to her desk. Before sitting down, she dropped a folder onto the desk — just
barely short of throwing it.
Anna, seated beside her, glanced over. "Remember — at this point in our lives, all we need is
money."
Sandra drew a slow breath. "Don't take the boss's words to heart; work hard, eat well." She
recited her personal mantra."I thought you already knew..." Anna added.
"There's a seminar out of town starting tomorrow — for two weeks. That's incredibly short
notice."
• •
A week later, in the middle of the seminar series. The late afternoon sun spilled in from
outside the hotel. Sandra dropped her bag on the bed after returning from the day's session.
She rummaged through it for her phone, then walked to the nightstand and picked up a cup of
coffee — half-drunk — that she had bought before heading back.
Anna, fresh from the bathroom, settled on the edge of the bed. Silence. Sandra was scrolling
through her phone in the chair by the window. Then, without quite knowing why, she
switched it off — and thought of the barista.
A week ago, before she left, she had stopped by the café. She sat there, searching the room for
him. The next day she went back — and found a new barista in his place.
Something lodged itself in Sandra's chest. She thought of the way he had looked at her. She
missed him.
"Come with me to buy a present for Dean," Anna said, breaking the quiet.
"Huh —?" Sandra startled slightly, her expression flickering.
"Come with me to get a gift for Dean," Anna said again, looking at her plainly.
Sandra turned away and lowered her head a little, hiding the faint wetness in her eyes. She
shook her head, then got up from the chair and walked to the bed. She buried her face in the
pillow. "I want to stay here and think."
"Are you sure? Maybe some fresh air will do you good."
Sandra shook her head again and turned to face the wall.
"I'll go then." Anna slung her bag over her shoulder. "And don't overthink things." she
whispered.
Anna left, her plain-spoken words hanging in the air behind her.The afternoon sky glowed gold. Anna quickened her pace toward a mechanical supplies shop,
racing the setting sun, pushing through the noise of traffic and the thick crowd of rush hour.
The shop, modest in size, had its folding door flung wide open, a glass display case standing
at its center in plain view. The walls were hung with rows of tools for sale. Anna walked in,
glancing around for what she needed. From behind the display case, the shop owner appeared
— and startled her.
"Looking for something?" he asked.
"Oh my God!" Anna jumped. "Good grief — nearly gave me a heart attack." She laughed
and stepped closer to the display case.
"I'm looking for a car tool set."
"A tune-up set, or hand tools?"
"I'm not sure what those are," Anna admitted. "Here's the thing — I'm looking for a gift.
He's a beginner. Lately he's been completely taken with engines. Can you recommend
something that, when he opens it, will make him absolutely overjoyed and fall even more
in love with me?"
The shopkeeper listened and smiled to himself, then walked to the back shelf, lifted a large
comprehensive automotive starter kit, and brought it to the counter. He tapped the box. "This
is perfect for a beginner's gift. Everything's included — a complete socket set with sizes from
small to large, a ratchet and extension bar. There's a combination wrench, screwdrivers —"
"Yes, yes —" Anna cut him off, laughing. "Are you absolutely sure this is right for a gift?
Can I hold you to that?"
"Absolutely. I run an honest business." He grinned, rising to the challenge.
"In that case," Anna said — her eyes falling, quite by chance, on the keloid scar along his
forearm — "if my partner doesn't love it, your keloid gets bigger."
The shopkeeper looked at his scar, then burst out laughing. "Deal!"
When two people are still brought together because their time together hasn't yet come to an end. But when they no longer meet—even if they're so close or bound by the same circle—perhaps the universe has already closed that chapter. Because sometimes a person's presence isn't meant to last forever, but rather to learn or to teach.