The sun didn't rise.
It bloomed.
A lazy, golden spill of light stretched across the concrete street like it was trying to paint beauty on broken things.
Ayra didn't usually wake this early. But something in her chest felt restless — a quiet hum behind her ribs that sleep couldn't soothe.
So she stepped outside.
Hair uncombed. Hoodie zipped up. Slippers sliding softly against the floor.
The street was still half-asleep. Shop gates rolled halfway down. Bread sellers dragging their trays into the sun. A mother shouting from a veranda for her child to come back inside.
And then—
Him.
She didn't notice him at first.
But then the wind moved. And he was there.
Hood up. Earphones in. Plastic bag in one hand.
Coming out of the store she usually walked past.
Ayra's breath hitched.
Not because he saw her.
But because for a heartbeat… he didn't.
And that made her want to disappear.
And also, be seen.
She took one step forward, pretending to fix her sleeve. Another. A quiet prayer in her head that he wouldn't look her way — and a louder one that he would.
He looked up.
Earphones still in.
Eyes sharp… and tired.
And for the second time in less than 48 hours,
they stared.
No words.
No smile.
Just… stillness.
And then a tricycle swerved past, honking unnecessarily. Ayra flinched slightly, breaking eye contact. When she looked again—he was walking away. Not fast. Not slow.
Like someone who doesn't run from things.
But doesn't stay either.
She stood there for a while.
Hands in her pocket.
Wondering why her chest felt too full for such a small moment.
They hadn't spoken.
They hadn't touched.
But something had brushed against her soul.
And it had his shape