The guy had been determined long before his feet ever touched the gravel path of the park.
Determination clung to him like a second skin that afternoon, quiet, unyielding, almost embarrassing in its intensity. He told himself he had only come to the park to chill, to sit where the trees whispered to one another and the air felt less burdened by people's expectations. He told himself it was the fresh air he needed, the brief illusion of peace, the kind you borrowed and returned when reality came knocking again.
But even before he arrived, even before the sun settled properly into its late-day glow, his mind had already made a decision.
If he saw her again, he would not leave without her contact.
The park breathed gently that evening. Children's laughter darted through the air like restless birds. Somewhere nearby, metal creaked as a ride swayed, its rhythm punctuated by screams of thrill and delight. The grass was a mosaic of green and gold where the sun kissed it unevenly, and benches dotted the landscape like quiet witnesses to countless untold stories.
That was when he saw her.
At first, she was only a figure at a distance, indistinct, blurred by space and light. But something about the way she sat, the way her shoulders carried themselves as though burdened by invisible weight, caught him. His steps slowed without his permission. His breath hitched, subtle but undeniable.
Then she shifted slightly, and the light found her face.
It struck him, not gently, not politely. It struck him with the force of sudden recognition, the kind that didn't ask for logic or permission. His heart reacted before his mind could interfere. There was something about her stillness, about the quiet way she occupied space, that felt like a pause in a world that never stopped rushing.
He swallowed.
He must get her contact.
Ann sat with her thoughts loosely folded around her like a shawl she no longer remembered putting on. The bench beneath her was cool, grounding. She had come to the park seeking the same thing she always did—space. Air. Distance from memories that followed her too closely, memories that breathed down her neck when nights grew quiet.
The world around her was alive, loud, and animated, but she remained slightly removed from it all, like a spectator watching life from behind a thin glass wall. Her fingers toyed absentmindedly with the hem of her top. Her eyes scanned nothing in particular.
And then she felt it.
That unmistakable sensation, the weight of someone's gaze.
Her shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. Experience had taught her how to recognize attention before it announced itself. She did not turn immediately. She pretended not to notice. But the awareness settled deep in her chest, unwelcome and familiar.
She stood up abruptly.
Not because she was ready to leave, but because staying felt like inviting something she wasn't prepared to deal with. She adjusted her bag over her shoulder and began walking toward where Mia stood, eyes sparkling as she watched the thrill of the park unfold before her.
Mia, unlike Ann, was fully immersed in the moment. She leaned slightly forward, hands clasped together, laughter threatening to spill from her lips at any second. The rides fascinated her, the noise energized her. She lived in color, while Ann lived in caution.
Ann approached her with deliberate calm, each step measured, her heartbeat faster than she'd admit.
She did this to avoid the stranger who had begun beckoning subtly, an almost shy wave, a hopeful lift of the hand. She wasn't ready. She didn't want to engage. She didn't want questions, introductions, expectations. Not today. Maybe not ever.
"Yo, Ann," Mia said without turning fully, still watching the ride twist and spin. "I thought you said you loved it cool back there when I asked you to follow me."
Ann exhaled slowly, forcing her voice to sound casual. "I just needed some fresh air."
Mia finally turned to look at her. The smile lingered on her lips, but her eyes sharpened slightly. She knew Ann well, well enough to hear what wasn't being said. There was something off, something brittle in the way Ann avoided her gaze.
Mia didn't press. Not yet.
Behind them, the guy hesitated.
He had watched Ann stand, watched her walk away from him, and for a moment doubt crept in like a thief. Maybe he should let it go. Maybe this was one of those signs the universe gave, subtle but firm. But the feeling that had seized him earlier refused to loosen its grip.
He took a breath and followed.
They hadn't gone far when his voice cut through the ambient noise of the park, carrying with it equal parts courage and vulnerability.
"Hey, beautiful," he said. "I just wanna have a word with you."
Ann stopped.
Slowly, she turned, her eyes already hardening, walls rising instinctively. The word beautiful landed wrong. It always did. It sounded too easy, too rehearsed, too familiar coming from a stranger.
"I'm not interested," she barked, the sharpness in her tone surprising even herself.
The guy blinked, taken aback, but he didn't retreat. "I just..."
"Hey, babe," Mia interjected quickly, stepping slightly closer to Ann. "Be calm, please."
Ann shot her a look but said nothing.
What followed was a brief but tense back and forth, polite insistence meeting firm resistance. The guy tried to explain himself, his words tumbling out clumsily, sincerity fighting nervousness. Ann listened just enough to respond, her refusal unwavering.
She would not share her contact.
Not today. Not with him. Not with anyone.
The decision was final.
Mia observed the exchange quietly, her eyes darting between them. She saw something Ann refused to see—or maybe something Ann was too afraid to acknowledge. The guy wasn't arrogant. He wasn't aggressive. There was no entitlement in his voice, no pressure in his posture. Only hope.
And persistence.
When it became clear that Ann wouldn't budge, Mia stepped in.
"Okay," she said gently, turning to the guy. "Look, she's not comfortable right now. But…" She hesitated briefly, then made a decision of her own. "You can take my contact. Message me. I'll talk to her."
Ann's head snapped toward her. "Mia—"
"It's fine," Mia said softly, cutting her off. "I'll handle it."
The guy's face lit up with gratitude so intense it bordered on relief. He thanked Mia profusely, words spilling over themselves, appreciation etched into every line of his face. He saved her number carefully, as though it were fragile, precious.
Then he left, casting one last glance in Ann's direction before disappearing into the crowd.
Silence followed.
"What you did back there was out of it, babe," Mia said eventually, breaking the quiet.
Ann folded her arms, her jaw tight. "Just leave me be, Mia. All guys are the same. They always appear innocent and loving at the outset, and boom—" she snapped her fingers sharply, "—they change their color like a chameleon later on."
Her voice trembled slightly at the end, betraying the hurt she pretended had healed.
Mia nodded slowly. "That's true though," she admitted. "But you can't continue to ignore good guys just because one broke your heart."
Ann didn't respond immediately. She stared ahead, eyes unfocused, memories stirring like dust in sunlight. Finally, she shrugged. "I'll try and change."
It sounded more like a promise she wasn't sure she could keep.
They left the park shortly after, the evening settling into night behind them. The lodge was quiet, its walls holding the hush of countless private lives. Mia decided to sleep over, as she often did. Familiarity wrapped around them like a blanket.
By 11 p.m., both lay on separate beds, the room dim except for the glow of their phone screens. The silence was companionable, punctuated only by occasional scrolling sounds.
Then Mia's fingers paused.
Without warning, she sent a message to the guy.
"What for?" Ann asked immediately, peering over.
"He's good-looking, Ann," Mia said, unapologetic. "I've spoken with him here. I'll send him your number, huh?"
Ann hesitated for a fraction of a second, then shrugged. "Do whatever you like. I own my keyboard. I'll decide whether to respond to his message or not 🙂."
Mia smiled and sent Ann's number.
Moments later, Ann's phone buzzed.
Her heart skipped.
She stared at the screen, suddenly aware of how quiet the room had become. The notification sat there, small but heavy, like a door waiting to be opened.
The first message he sent read:
"Hi Ann… I know today wasn't the best first impression, but something about you made me feel like walking away would've been my biggest regret. I'm not here to rush you, just to know you, if you'll let me."
The words swept Ann off her feet.