CHAPTER 2 –SERENDIPITOUS MEETINGS
The next morning, Marcus told himself it was nothing.
Just a passing moment. A random encounter on a rainy afternoon. He didn't even have her number. And still… she lingered.
Her voice replayed in his head. That soft, curious smile. The way her fingers brushed the corner of the page. It was ridiculous, he thought. He didn't even know if she lived in the city or if she was just passing through.
And yet—he found himself walking past the bookstore again two days later.
She wasn't there.
Another day. Still no Elena.
He nearly gave up. Until a week later, when he stopped at the corner café for his usual black coffee—and she was there.
Sitting by the window, sketching something in a small notebook, her scarf draped over the chair beside her.
His heart skipped.
She looked up, almost as if she'd felt his stare, and recognition flashed in her eyes. Her lips curved in a surprised smile.
"You again," she said as he approached.
"Me again," he said, laughing. "Or maybe you followed me."
She raised an eyebrow. "In your neighborhood, in your café, on your usual route. Sounds more like you followed me."
He grinned. "Guilty."
She gestured to the empty seat across from her. "Well, stalker or not… you can sit."
He sat.
They talked for hours.
Elena was from out of town—Boston. She was working on a short-term museum exhibition downtown, curating contemporary pieces with a small team. Art was her world—she spoke of it with a mix of passion and purpose that Marcus admired. He, in turn, shared his love for architecture. They both laughed at how their professions were really about shaping spaces that made people feel something.
"There's something romantic about buildings and brushstrokes," she said.
He nodded. "Both try to capture what words can't."
They shared stories, swapped thoughts about books and films, and joked about the worst coffee they'd ever tasted. Hours passed like minutes.
"I should get going," she finally said, glancing at the time. "But I've got to admit… this didn't feel like a second meeting. More like a continuation."
"Like we picked up where we left off?" Marcus asked.
She smiled. "Exactly."
This time, she handed him her number—written neatly on the back of her sketch.
"Call me," she said.
He did.
That night.