Elena Reyes believed that life announced its important moments.
She thought there would be a sound—a pause, a shift in the air, something unmistakable. But the afternoon she nearly met Lucas Moreno, nothing dramatic happened at all.
The café on Calle Luna smelled like burnt sugar and old books. Elena sat by the window, her sketchbook open but untouched, watching people pass by as rain thinned into mist.
Her phone buzzed once—her mother reminding her to come home before dark.
She didn't notice the boy across the street adjusting the strap of his backpack, hesitating before entering the café.
Lucas stood there longer than necessary. He had walked past this place a hundred times since moving back into the city, always telling himself he'd stop in tomorrow.
Today, his feet finally carried him there—but his courage lagged behind.
Through the glass, he saw a girl by the window.
She wasn't smiling. She wasn't trying to look interesting.
She just was—chin resting on her hand, eyes distant, as if her thoughts lived somewhere far from her body.
Lucas almost opened the door.
Almost.
Instead, his phone vibrated. A message from his father: Running late. We'll talk tonight.
Lucas stepped back. The door never opened.
Inside, Elena closed her sketchbook, unaware that someone had been framed in the window of her life for exactly seven seconds