The next morning, Ava woke to the soft, persistent sound of rain tapping against her window—a gentle rhythm that echoed the restless pulse in her chest. For a long moment, she lay still beneath the covers, staring at the faint crack in the ceiling, her thoughts already far from sleep as the events of the previous night replayed vividly in her mind.
The park.
The quiet bench beneath flickering streetlights.
Lucas's voice—steady yet vulnerable—as he admitted what she had already felt but hadn't dared to name.
She exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her chest as if she could calm the flutter there. She had tried to convince herself it was nothing more than excitement, a fleeting spark born from coincidence and proximity. But deep down, Ava knew better.
Lucas had claimed a space in her thoughts that no one else had managed to occupy in a very long time.
She finally pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The cold floor sent a small shiver through her body as she stood and pulled on a loose sweater. Her apartment was modest—small, functional, and quiet—but it was hers. Every piece of furniture had been chosen carefully, paid for slowly, built from patience and sacrifice. It was a sanctuary she had created after leaving everything she once knew behind.
As the coffee brewed, Ava leaned against the counter, watching steam curl into the air. The familiar smell brought a strange ache to her chest. Her mother used to make coffee early every morning, humming softly as she moved around their old kitchen. Ava hadn't realized how much she missed that sound until now.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she wrapped them around the warm mug, the heat grounding her. She took a careful sip, hoping it would steady her nerves.
"Focus, Ava," she murmured to herself. "Work first. Don't let him… distract you."
But distraction had become her constant companion ever since she relocated to the city.
She hadn't always lived here. Once, she had belonged somewhere else—another city filled with familiar streets, familiar faces, and memories that now felt both distant and heavy.
She had grown up in a crowded but loving home. Her father was a practical man—strict, disciplined, and deeply rooted in routine. He believed hard work was the answer to everything and that stability, no matter how small, was better than chasing dreams that might never come true. He loved his children, but he loved certainty more.
Her mother was softer. Gentle. Always tired, always giving. She carried dreams she never spoke of anymore, dreams buried beneath years of responsibility. Ava had seen it in her eyes—the quiet resignation, the acceptance of a life that never expanded beyond survival.
Ava was the eldest. The example. The one expected to be strong.
She had two younger siblings who depended on her more than they should have. She helped with homework, broke up arguments, skipped things she wanted so they could have what they needed. From a young age, she learned how to carry weight without complaint.
Expectations followed her everywhere.
She was expected to succeed—but not too far.
To dream—but not too big.
To help—but never ask.
After graduating, she tried to make a life for herself there, clinging to hope with stubborn determination. But jobs were scarce, salaries barely covered basic needs, and every promise of "things will get better" felt emptier than the last.
Each rejection letter.
Each unpaid bill.
Each night spent staring into the dark, wondering if she had made the wrong choices—
They chipped away at her spirit.
What finally broke her wasn't failure.
It was stagnation.
She remembered standing on the small balcony of their apartment one evening, phone pressed to her ear as her mother gently asked her to "be patient" and her father reminded her that "at least you have something." Ava had stared at the dim city lights and felt something inside her snap.
If she stayed, she would wither.
She would become someone who only dreamed—but never dared.
So she left.
Packing her life into two suitcases. Hugging her siblings longer than necessary. Promising her mother she would be fine. Avoiding her father's disappointed silence. She came to the city with nothing but determination, a few contacts, and an aching hope for something more.
The beginning had been brutal.
Long hours.
Tiny apartments.
Loneliness that settled deep into her bones.
But Ava survived. She built routines. Worked relentlessly. Learned how to rely on herself. And somewhere along the way, she built walls around her heart—strong, careful walls.
Feelings were a luxury she couldn't afford.
Until Lucas happened.
Across town, Lucas was fighting a similar internal battle.
His apartment felt unusually empty that morning, as though the walls themselves remembered Ava's laughter, the warmth of her presence lingering long after she had gone. He sat at his desk, tie loosened, staring blankly at the ceiling as memories of the night before surfaced uninvited.
The way her eyes had softened when she admitted she couldn't stop thinking about him.
The way her hand had felt in his—small, warm, trusting.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
He had an important meeting that morning, yet he found himself delaying it, replaying her smile over and over again. Ava was becoming important to him far faster than he had anticipated—and that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
When Ava stepped into the lobby of her office building later that morning, she expected the usual blur of coworkers and elevator music. Instead, her breath caught.
Lucas stood near the elevator, briefcase in hand, dark hair slightly damp from the rain.
"Lucas?" she breathed.
He turned, surprise melting into a slow grin. "Morning, Ms. Bennett."
They stepped into the elevator together, the doors sliding shut with a soft thud. The space felt too small. The air too thick.
"You're quiet," he said gently.
"I'm thinking."
"About me?"
She hesitated. "Maybe."
"I like honesty."
The doors opened, but the tension followed them.
Then came the announcement.
A sudden inspection. Department coordination. And by sheer inevitability, Ava's team was assigned to work directly with Lucas's company—for the entire day.
Her stomach dropped.
Close quarters.
The hours blurred into meetings and documents, professionalism strained by something deeper. Hands brushed. Shoulders collided. Words lingered longer than necessary.
As they worked side by side, Ava's thoughts drifted—not just to Lucas, but to how far she had come.
If she hadn't left…
If she hadn't been brave…
She would never have met him.
In a cramped meeting room, Lucas leaned close. "Maybe we're just meant to get used to this."
Her cheeks flushed.
Later, a call pulled him away. His expression darkened. When he returned, something had shifted—controlled, distant.
"I need to handle something. Alone."
She nodded, even though unease settled in her chest.
As evening fell, the office emptied. When they finally stepped outside together, the rain had stopped. The city glistened under the streetlights.
"Tomorrow," Lucas said softly, brushing her hand. "We'll figure this out."
Ava smiled.
As they walked side by side, she realized something profound.
She hadn't just moved cities to find better opportunities.
She had moved to find herself.
And perhaps—without even knowing it—to find him.