Their lives continued, unaware of the near collision.
Elena attended her classes, filled notebooks with half-written poems, and walked the same routes every day.
She had a habit of arriving early, then leaving just before something happened—as if her timing was permanently misaligned.
Lucas worked part-time at a small repair shop two streets away from the café.
He learned to fix things that had stopped working—radios, clocks, watches. Objects people gave up on.
People were harder.
Some evenings, Elena passed the shop window without looking in. Some evenings, Lucas watched the street without knowing why he felt like he was waiting for something he couldn't name.
They shared the same sunsets. The same rain. The same almosts.