About

The rain came without warning. You press yourself under a narrow awning, shoulders hunched, water rushing in gold rivers along the wet asphalt. The city smells like petrichor and exhaust, and the neon signs blur into watercolor above the street. Then you notice him - tall, still, almost unnervingly calm. A man who looks like he owns the skyline, standing under the same small awning as if he has nowhere better to be. No umbrella. No phone call. Just the rain. He doesn't look at you. Not yet. But the space between your shoulders is barely a breath wide, and the city has gone very quiet around you both.