Second Chances

Chapter Two: Second Chances

For a moment, Elena froze. The café noise dulled — the hiss of the espresso machine, the hum of early conversations, the clink of mugs — all of it faded into the background as her gaze locked with his.

The stranger.

Her stomach twisted with nerves and something else she refused to name. Of all the cafés in the city, of all the mornings, he had to be here again.

He smiled, easy and unhurried, as if he had expected this. “Guess we’ve got a habit of running into each other.”

Elena shifted, suddenly self-conscious in her rumpled coat and messy bun. “Apparently,” she said, trying for casual, though her pulse betrayed her.

He stepped aside to let another customer pass, then nodded toward the counter. “Getting your coffee again?”

“Yes. I, um… kind of need it to function.”

“That makes two of us.” He held up his cup. “Black coffee. My one reliable constant.”

She smiled despite herself. “Reliable isn’t a word I’d use for coffee.”

He tilted his head, studying her with amused eyes. “What would you use?”

“Necessary,” she said. “Addictive. Possibly life-saving.”

He laughed — a deep, unguarded sound that made something warm stir in her chest.

“Next!” the barista called.

Elena stepped forward, grateful for the interruption. She ordered her latte, feeling his presence just behind her, close enough that she caught a faint trace of his cologne — woodsy, clean, distracting.

When she turned, he was still watching her.

“Look,” he said, a touch hesitant now, “I feel like I should properly introduce myself before we crash into each other again. I’m Adrian.”

“Elena,” she said, her name sounding softer on her lips than usual.

“Nice to meet you, Elena.” He extended his hand like it was a business introduction, but his smile was anything but formal. She hesitated, then slipped her hand into his. Warmth spread instantly, startling her with its intensity.

They held the handshake a second too long before she pulled back.

The barista slid her drink across the counter. Elena grabbed it quickly, clutching the cup like armor.

“Well,” she said, searching for composure, “thanks for… not letting me fall on the sidewalk yesterday.”

“Anytime,” he replied smoothly. “Though maybe we should find a less dangerous way to meet next time.”

Elena opened her mouth, half a smile forming, but the words tangled. Next time. Did he mean that?

Her phone buzzed in her pocket — Priya reminding her not to be late again. Elena glanced at the screen, then back at Adrian.

“I should go,” she said reluctantly.

He nodded, though something flickered in his eyes, like he wanted to stop her. “Of course. Work calls.”

She took a step back, then another. But before she turned away fully, she heard him call after her.

“Hey, Elena?”

She looked back.

His smile returned, softer this time. “See you around.”

Her heart skipped. She walked out into the morning rush, the city alive with sound and motion, and for the second day in a row, she couldn’t wipe the stranger’s face from her mind.

That night, Elena sat cross-legged on her bed, sketchbook open in her lap. By day she was a junior designer at a marketing firm, endlessly revising clients’ requests. But by night, she let herself draw freely — lines and shapes that made sense only to her.

Yet tonight, her pencil kept betraying her. Instead of abstract patterns, she found herself sketching a profile — strong jawline, messy curls, an unreadable smile.

She groaned, snapping the book shut. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered.

A knock sounded at her door. “You talking to yourself again?” Priya’s voice was teased.

Elena rolled her eyes. “Go away.”

Priya peeked in anyway, holding a bowl of instant noodles. “Or… do you want to talk about the guy you met again today?”

Elena blinked. “How are you—”

“You have that look. The distracted, dreamy, totally busted look.” Priya grinned triumphantly. “So? Tell me everything.”

Elena tried to resist, but the memory of Adrian’s smile was too fresh. With a sigh, she confessed, “He was at the café this morning. We actually talked.”

Priya squealed, bouncing onto the bed. “Oh my God. This is fate. Do you realize how rare this is?”

“It’s not fate,” Elena insisted, though her voice lacked conviction. “It’s just a coincidence.”

Priya smirked. “Coincidence doesn’t make your cheeks turn that red.”

Elena buried her face in her pillow. “I’m not blushing.”

But she was.

Adrian lay awake that same night, the city lights spilling across his apartment walls. His day had been full — meetings

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