The park is quiet this time of day. Late afternoon in spring, sun melting into soft amber, painting everything gold. I sit on one of the older benches—wooden, slightly chipped, but it has a good view of the fountain and the trees swaying in the breeze. A coffee cup sits half-drunk in my hands. I haven't checked my phone since I left apartment at 10 AM. I just wanted to be somewhere still.
The unfinished sketches I drew sit on my lap. My small sketchbook Julia gave me months ago as because she found it cute.
I thought I would have total peace here, because the past six hours I've gained it, but the universe is never really done with me.
"What a coincidence."
His voice is too familiar until I don't have to check who's that. I turn slowly, and there he is—hands in his pockets, leaning slightly to the side like he owns the sidewalk. He looks like he didn't sleep much. Same hoodie I remember. Same sharp jaw and tired eyes.
