Question

The next afternoon, Owen arrived earlier than usual. He wanted to make sure he would be there before Lila, though he didn’t quite understand why. Maybe it was because he wanted to see her walk through the door, to watch the moment she noticed him waiting.

He sat at their corner table, fingers drumming against his cup, rehearsing small talk in his mind. When the bell above the door chimed, he looked up instantly.

Lila stepped inside, her notebook tucked under one arm, her jacket slightly damp from the faint drizzle outside. She spotted him immediately, and for a second, a soft flicker crossed her expression—surprise, maybe even relief. Then it was gone, replaced by her usual calm.

“You’re early,” she said, sliding into the chair opposite him.

“I didn’t want to miss my seat,” Owen replied, smiling.

She gave him a look that was halfway between skeptical and amused. Then she opened her notebook.

For a while, silence fell between them. The café buzzed around them—cups clinking, laughter in the distance, the hiss of the espresso machine—but their corner felt like its own world. Owen watched as Lila sketched, her pencil moving quickly, lines flowing into shapes that he could only half make sense of.

“Can I see?” he asked suddenly.

She froze, her hand stilling over the page. Her gray eyes lifted, holding his gaze for a long moment. Then, without a word, she closed the notebook and placed it aside.

“Not yet,” she said.

Owen raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because some things aren’t ready to be seen.”

Her answer was simple, but it lingered in the air between them. He wanted to push, to ask what she meant, but the intensity in her gaze stopped him. There was a barrier there, invisible but firm.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair. “You’re mysterious, you know that?”

Lila tilted her head slightly, as if considering. “And you’re too curious.”

Their eyes met, and for the briefest second, a smile tugged at her lips. Owen felt a strange warmth spread through him, a spark of connection that needed no words.

The rain had started again outside, light drops tapping against the window. Lila glanced at it, then turned back to him. “Do you believe in coincidences?”

Owen blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

She tapped her pencil against the notebook. “That we met in the rain. That we keep ending up here. Do you think it’s just chance?”

Her question hung between them, heavier than the sound of the rain. Owen searched for an answer, but none came.

Before he could reply, Lila stood up. “I should go.”

He followed her to the door, words still unsaid on his lips. When she stepped into the drizzle, she glanced back at him once, her gray eyes unreadable.

And then she was gone.

Owen stood there for a long time, the echo of her question still ringing in his mind.

Do you believe in coincidences?

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