I woke up to the sound of Mic Drop by BTS shaking the walls. My best friend, also my roommate Scarlett, was blasting her favorite song like it was her personal concert. And as usual, she didn't give a flying damn that I was still asleep.
Groaning, I dragged myself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. In the living room, there she was: dancing barefoot, holding a spoon like a mic, absolutely butchering every lyric with an off-key scream-singing performance. I didn't even understand what BTS was saying half the time, but I was sure it wasn't whatever gibberish she was yelling.
I slumped onto the stool by the kitchen island, eyeing the suspicious-looking breakfast on my plate. Somewhere between scrambled eggs and a failed sunny-side up.
"Scarlett," I sighed, poking the egg, "how many times do I have to tell you? You can't cook."
She spun around with a flourish and stuck her tongue out like a child. Classic.
I wasn't trying to crush her dreams, but my concern was based on hard-earned trauma. She once almost set the kitchen on fire, trying to make toast. Toast. That was the day I started sleeping with a fire extinguisher near my bed.
Eventually, I powered through the questionable eggs, got dressed, and slung my bag over my shoulder. I decided to walk to campus, my car deserved the day off, and the weather was just too good to waste. A gentle breeze brushed against my face, and for once, it felt like the world was on my side.
By the time I reached campus, it was 9:56 a.m. cutting it close. I rushed toward the lecture hall, already dreading the mind-numbing three hours ahead.
Final year as an art student. Just a few months from graduating, but the memories of sleepless nights working on assignments still haunted me. If I never saw another sketchpad again, it would be too soon.
I found a seat in the back just as the professor walked in. After what felt like a century-long lecture and a post-class discussion about upcoming assignments, I met Scarlett for lunch. Then it was time for work.
We headed to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson's Diner, our second home. Jimmy and Lila Anderson, who insisted we call them by their first names were the sweetest couple you could ever meet. Kind eyes. Warm smiles. The type of love that makes you believe in forever.
Scarlett walked out of the changing room in our work uniform: red shirt with black and white stripes on the collar and sleeves, paired with a matching apron. I checked the clock, and six minutes to shift change. We waited for Michelle and Jen to finish up. Jimmy ran a tight ship; punctuality was non-negotiable. Maybe that's why the diner was such a hit in this little town.
The diner had a full-on Stranger Things theme, every booth named after a character or creature. Menus had items like "Upside Down Double Cheeseburger," "Demodog Fries," "Hopper's Fiery Sandwich" (seriously spicy), and "Wheeler's Milkshake." I had no idea how Jimmy came up with this stuff, but it was brilliant.
This place was family. Scarlett's and my actual families were back in India, but here, with Jimmy, Lila, Josh in the kitchen, and the girls, we felt at home.
As the shift began, I spotted a group of freshers claiming the Mind Flayer booth (of course). I grabbed two menus, walked over with my best customer-service smile, took their order, and handed it to Josh in the kitchen.
Josh grinned as I passed him the slip. He was one of my favorite people, charming, ridiculously sweet, and always smelled like vanilla and basil. Also, his smile could blind a small nation.
While waiting for the food, I helped Scarlett wipe down some tables. Then I heard the bell above the door ring.
I turned and froze.
Five men in black suits walked in. Tall. Broad. Beautiful in a way that made the air feel heavier. Four walked ahead, but the fifth lingered behind them, partly hidden.
Scarlett and I exchanged glances. She looked like she'd just seen a K-drama fantasy come to life.
"Want to take this one?" I asked. She blinked, still stunned.
I shook my head and stepped forward, plastering my smile back on.
"Welcome to the Diner. Which table would you guys prefer?"
Then, the fifth man stepped forward.
And my world. Just. Stopped.
His eyes met mine, grey laced with gold, like storm clouds catching sunlight. And in that one second, I felt everything. Joy. Fear. Longing. Peace. Like meeting someone I'd known for centuries. Like he'd pulled back every layer of me with just one look.
My breath caught.
He didn't just look at me. He saw me. Every insecurity. Every thought. Like he already knew all the versions of me and even the ones I hadn't met yet.
He was beautiful. Ethereal. Sharp angles and soft shadows. Dangerous and divine.
And then the scent hit me.
Rain on dry earth.
Petrichor.
That's what he smelled like.
A memory. A home. A beginning.
Hope you enjoyed this little chapter of chaos, friendship, and a mysterious encounter. If you've got theories, I want to hear them. Should I give this stranger a name in the next part? Or let the mystery brew? Suggestions are welcomed. Drop your thoughts in the comments! 🌧️✨