The countryside market was alive with the scent of herbs, warm bread, and sunlight filtering through striped canvas covers. Wooden stalls lined the cobblestone paths, each brimming with fresh produce, flowers, and handmade goods. Lydia walked leisurely, dressed in casual clothes and oversized sunglasses, her hum soft and content beneath the gentle buzz of the town.
"I told myself this was just a quick trip for apricots. But somewhere between picking an outfit and checking my hair five times… I knew I was hoping to see him."
She turned a corner by the bread stall, distracted by the scent of rosemary loaves—then bumped, hard, into a solid wall of something.
Or someone.
"Ow—oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't see—" she began, blinking up at whoever had just bruised her shoulder.
She froze.
Black hoodie. Sunglasses. Sculpted jaw and a grocery bag in hand.
Ravi. Of course.
"Are you stalking me or is the universe just punishing me again?" he asked, not even blinking.
Lydia grinned like the answer was obvious.
"Are you buying vegetables or avoiding me? Either way, you look good doing both."
He didn't return the smile.
"Still haven't figured out boundaries, I see."
"Boundaries? Never met her."
He moved past her, intent on getting wherever he was going, but Lydia trailed alongside him like a well-dressed shadow.
"Look, I was just here for apricots. But now that fate's handed me this meet-cute, maybe I should ask for your number next."
"Or you could ask for a restraining order. That feels more appropriate."
She gasped theatrically.
"Wow. You're lucky your voice is hot or I'd have cried by now."
They slowed near the tiny coffee stand at the edge of the market. Ravi stepped forward and ordered a black coffee. Lydia raised an eyebrow.
"No cream, no sugar. Why am I not surprised?"
"Because unlike you, I don't need things to be sweet to enjoy them."
"Touché. But just so you know… I'm way more addictive than caffeine."
The barista chuckled awkwardly while preparing the drink. Ravi didn't even glance back as he took his cup.
"Addictive doesn't always mean good for you."
"Neither does loneliness."
That made him pause. Just for a moment, his head tilted slightly toward her voice.
"You always talk in riddles?" he asked, his tone somewhere between annoyed and intrigued.
"Only when I'm trying to impress someone who clearly isn't impressed."
"Try harder, then."
And with that, he walked off, vanishing into the moving crowd like some annoyingly poetic mystery.
Lydia watched him go, a slow smirk curling her lips.
"He said try harder. That's practically an invitation."
That night, back in the quiet of her rented house, Lydia curled into the corner of the couch with her journal balanced on her knees. Her pen danced across the page, the words flowing as fast as her thoughts.
Dear diary,
Today I ran into a walking red flag with an accent that should be illegal.
He insulted me three times and still made me blush.
I think I'm doomed.
Sincerely,
A woman with zero self-control when it comes to emotionally unavailable men.
She set the pen down and sighed.
Yup. She was in trouble.