Alina had always believed her life ran on a simple, predictable rhythm—a monotonous cycle of anonymity, routine, and a deep, quiet longing for something just beyond her reach. But ever since she had acknowledged the presence of the velvet pouch, the universe seemed intent on grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking things up.
And honestly? She didn't hate it.
Sure, she had almost been robbed on a public street, lost a heel in the middle of her workday, and had Sarah, the neighborhood's self-appointed detective, breathing down her neck. A week ago, any one of those events would have sent her into a spiral of anxiety. But none of that mattered. Not really.
Because Logan Hayes had noticed her.
Not just noticed—he had spoken to her. He had smiled at her. He had touched her.
That thought alone was enough to send Alina spiraling into a delightful, dizzying emotional tailspin. The moment played in an endless loop in her head, a cherished memory already worn smooth like a favorite song she refused to stop replaying.
She was in the safety of her apartment now, curled up on the couch with a cup of tea growing cold on the coffee table. The city lights twinkled outside her window, but she saw none of them. Her focus was entirely inward, reliving every precious second of their interaction with the uninhibited enthusiasm of a giddy schoolgirl.
The way Logan had knocked on her desk—a firm, deliberate sound. Not a hesitant tap, but a rap that said, I am here to speak to you. A sound that acknowledged her existence.
The way he had smiled when she'd mangled the English language—not with mockery, but with a smooth, effortless, and absolutely devastating amusement that made her insides melt into a puddle.
The way he had touched her shoulder, the casual warmth of it seeping through her blouse, enough to send her entire nervous system into a complete and total collapse.
Her fingers clenched into fists as she pressed a decorative pillow against her face and let out a long, muffled squeal, the sheer, unadulterated joy threatening to spill out of her. She must have replayed the scene sixty times now—maybe more. Each time, she dissected a new detail: the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the deep, warm timbre of his voice, the clean, subtle scent of his cologne.
Was she pathetic? Almost certainly. Did she care? Not in the slightest.
For the first time in what felt like forever, something had gone unequivocally, beautifully right.
And then came the thought.
It arrived not as a lightning bolt, but as a small, whispering realization—soft as a breeze, yet utterly impossible to ignore. A new variable in the equation of her day.
Mum said the ring would make everything right.
The words, surfacing from the deep well of her memory, sent a sudden chill down her spine. It was not a chill of fear. Not of dread. It was the electrifying shiver of possibility.
She slowly turned her head, her gaze landing on the old wooden box sitting untouched on the shelf. The velvet pouch, however, was not in it. It had been nestled safely inside her bag all day, a silent passenger through the chaos. It was with her when the man in the gray hoodie had tried to rob her. It was with her when Logan had approached her desk. Its presence was quiet, unassuming—yet undeniably there.
Alina sat up slowly, the giddiness draining away to be replaced by a profound sense of awe. Her pulse, which had just begun to calm, started to quicken again, but for an entirely different reason.
Could it be?
She had spent years believing her mother's last words were just sentimentality—a dying woman's comforting fairy tale, not a prophecy. She had dismissed it as a metaphor for finding her own strength. Yet here she was, standing at the edge of something she couldn't quite name, with tangible evidence that the world was suddenly bending in her favor.
Her fingers, now trembling slightly, hesitated as she reached for her bag on the floor.
She could still turn back. A voice of cynical reason, her constant companion for years, whispered that this was all a coincidence. That she was connecting dots that weren't there because she was desperate for a sign. She could ignore it, push aside the absurdity of it all, and keep living as she always had—safe, predictable, and gray.
But what if her mother was right? What if this ring wasn't just a keepsake, but a key?
What if this was what she had been waiting for all her life?
Her grip tightened on the strap of her bag, a new determination hardening in her chest. She had nothing to lose and a world to potentially gain.
"I think it's time." She whispered the words into the quiet of her apartment, almost afraid to speak them into existence, to give them power.
She pulled the pouch from her bag, holding it in her palm like something sacred. It felt warm to the touch. Through the worn black velvet, was that a faint, pulsing glow, or was it just a trick of the light? It was waiting.
Alina took a deep, steadying breath.
"What do I have to lose?"
Just as her fingers began to loosen the drawstring, a sharp, insistent knock echoed from her front door.
Alina groaned, closing her eyes briefly and letting her head fall back against the couch cushions. The magical, momentous feeling shattered instantly. If there was one person in the entire universe who had impeccable, world-class timing for ruining important life moments, it was Sarah.
Frustration warring with resignation, she swung the door open to find her neighbor standing there, arms crossed, a knowing, triumphant glint in her eye.
"Well, don't just stand there like you didn't hear me the first time," Sarah said, waltzing inside with the confidence of a homeowner, before Alina could even form a protest.
Alina let out an exasperated sigh, shutting the door behind her. "Sarah, it's been a long day."
"Oh, don't you worry. I'll make it longer." Sarah flopped onto the nearest armchair, scanning Alina's apartment like she was conducting a forensic investigation. "So… how was work? More importantly, how was Mr. Tall, I-Can't-Live-Without-You, Office Perfection?"
Alina's face, which had just returned to its normal shade, burned crimson once again. "Why would you even—"
Sarah gasped, leaning forward so dramatically she almost fell out of her chair. "Oh my God, he actually spoke to you, didn't he? He did! I knew it!"
"I—"
"He did!" Sarah clapped her hands together excitedly, practically bouncing in her seat. "I can tell by your face. You're glowing. Either he finally noticed you, or you've developed a sudden case of radioactive poisoning. I'm betting on the first one."
Alina covered her face with her hands, sighing deeply into her palms. "Sarah, why are you like this?"
"Because your life is my daily soap opera, and I am deeply invested in the main character's romantic subplot," Sarah said without missing a beat, propping her chin on her hands. "So, spill. What did he say? Did he profess his undying love? Did he at least compliment your hair? Oh—wait! Did he ask for your number?"
Alina dropped her hands and huffed. "He told me I was wearing one shoe."
Sarah's endlessly expressive face went completely blank. "Oh."
A beat of charged silence hung in the air.
And then she cackled. A full-throated, joyous, unrestrained laugh that echoed through the small apartment.
"Wait—wait—you were walking around in one shoe?" she howled, clutching her stomach. "God, this is better than I thought. This is premium content!"
Alina grabbed the pillow she had been squealing into earlier and threw it at her, but Sarah dodged effortlessly, still laughing.
"I swear, you are pure entertainment," Sarah wiped a tear from her eye, catching her breath. "But in all seriousness, what did he say after that? Please tell me you didn't just stand there like a one-shoed flamingo."
Alina hesitated, her pulse skipping at the memory of his kindness. "He… um, he said I could pull off the style."
Sarah paused her laughter, her expression softening for a moment. Then she grinned even wider.
"Oh, sweetie," she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You're doomed. Absolutely, positively doomed."
Alina groaned, sinking back into the couch as Sarah's laughter started up again.
After what felt like an eternity spent enduring Sarah's gleeful teasing, she finally ushered her neighbor out, promising to provide updates on her "epic romance." She collapsed onto the couch again, utterly wrecked.
She exhaled deeply, rubbing her temples.
This day had been utter chaos. A whirlwind of fear, humiliation, and dizzying joy.
And yet—something about it felt fundamentally right.
Her gaze flickered back to the velvet pouch resting on the coffee table. Everything was shifting. The tectonic plates of her quiet, lonely world were moving.
She swallowed, her fingers reaching out and gripping the soft fabric.
Her mother's voice whispered in her mind, clearer than ever. "It will make everything right."
Maybe…
Maybe it really was time.