Three years ago..
Osaka - 1:32 PM
The air in Osaka that late autumn afternoon carried a chill, a melancholic softness that mirrored Ian's inner landscape.
He sat alone in a small coffee shop tucked away from the busy pedestrian streets, a rustic, wood-toned haven full of the scent of roasted beans and quiet indie music humming through overhead speakers.
His coffee sat cooling on the coaster beside him, untouched for ten minutes. He was too focused, not on the rich aroma, but on the blinking cursor on his laptop screen. His final thesis - his academic life raft - had become both his savior and his sentence.
Three years had passed since Ruth walked out of his life. Three long, dragging, weighty years that drained the vibrance from his soul. Ian used to be confident, driven, even charming in his own quiet way.
But ever since that night, when Ruth disappeared without warning, something cracked inside. He hadn't realized how deeply it affected him until he found himself recoiling from people, growing increasingly careless about how he looked, what he wore, how he moved through the world. He felt like a dull ghost of his former self, surviving by routine and caffeine.
Then..
The shop door swung open with a soft chime. Ian barely looked up - just another customer.
But then he noticed the change in atmosphere.
The ambient murmur of conversation dipped for a second. Heads subtly turned. Even the barista, mid-froth, paused for a heartbeat. Something had shifted. Ian looked toward the entrance.
There she stood. A woman with sun-kissed skin and cascading honey-blonde hair that shimmered like it belonged on a movie poster or a magazine. Her piercing ocean-blue eyes scanned the room frantically, her movements tight, her expression alarmed despite her breathtaking beauty. She was a magnet of grace and chaos.
And then... her eyes locked on his.
Ian froze. Confused. Bewildered. Her expression shifted instantly - from shaken to something warm, as if they were lovers reuniting after a long time.
"Hi, darling. Am I late?" she said, walking toward him briskly, voice rich with a thick Birmingham accent, tone sugary yet tight with hidden panic.
Ian blinked. "Sorry?" he muttered, blinking up at her as she neared his table.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I blamed it on traffic," she said brightly, trying to look cheerful but clearly rattled inside. Her fingers trembled slightly, clasping her handbag tightly.
"Lady, do I know you?" Ian asked, a bit of annoyance in his voice.
"Next time, I won't be late again." The woman said. Her eyes darting between Ian and her right side.
Ian glanced behind her. That's when he saw the man - a tall, creepy figure in a dark coat standing outside, his stare glued to her like a predator to prey.
Ian pieced it together fast. A flick of her gaze, a subtle gesture toward the man.
His instincts kicked in.
"No, not at all," Ian said, flashing her an affectionate smile, tilting his head. "I just got here too."
He gestured to the seat beside him.
She sat immediately, close - closer than strangers would, her perfume a mix of wildflower and adrenaline. Ian wrapped an arm around her shoulder casually, maintaining the act. He looked back out the window. The man still stood there. Watching.
Then slowly, like a cloud of smoke disappearing in wind, the man turned and walked away.
Ian waited a few more seconds. Then let out a breath and pulled his arm away.
"He's gone," he said softly.
The woman leaned back, her hand brushing her forehead. "God... thank you."
He studied her. "That was quick thinking," he said, nodding with genuine admiration. "Smart."
She chuckled a little, nervous still. "I guess desperation makes you creative."
They both sat there in the moment, silence melting the tension. Outside, the man vanished into Osaka's crowd. Inside, the warmth of safety wrapped around them for now.
Ian glanced at her again. "So... who are you really?"
The woman took a deep breath, recovering her confidence. Her blue eyes sparkled now, the fear retreating. She extended her hand.
"Isabelle Ravenglass," she said. "I'm from England. Here on business... sort of. And clearly not doing well avoiding creeps."
He shook her hand. "Ian. Ian Everhart. College student. Thesis-slave."
Isabelle laughed, her first real laugh. "Thesis-slave, huh? What's your paper about?"
"Social isolation and identity disintegration in modern urban Japan," he said, sipping his now lukewarm coffee. "Though right now, I think I'm the subject of my own study."
Isabelle leaned closer. "Sounds deep."
"It's mostly just depressing," Ian said. But then he caught her gaze again, and something unfamiliar stirred in his chest.
She wasn't just beautiful. She was human. Raw. Real. Hiding bruises under red lipstick and perfume. Just like him, maybe in a different way.
They talked more. About where she was from, what brought her to Japan. She was here for her modelling career, she said - marketing consultancy for a high-end firm. A little vague, but Ian didn't pry. She was clearly running from something - or someone - and in this moment, he didn't want her to be afraid.
For an hour, the cafe disappeared. Ian didn't type another word on his thesis. The cursor blinked on, untouched. But he didn't care.
Isabelle smiled more freely now, her tension evaporating. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she listened to Ian talk about books, Osaka's hidden jazz scene, and his thoughts on humanity's struggle for meaning.
As they talked, something in Ian slowly shifted.
He didn't feel small. Or broken. Or invisible.
For the first time in a long time... he felt seen.
And maybe, just maybe, this wasn't an accident.
Maybe the universe was still writing chapters for him he never expected.
And in this cozy little shop in Osaka, the story had just taken a new turn.