The almosts became sharper after that.
Now that they had spoken once, every silence felt heavier. Every missed glance carried the weight of choice instead of chance.
Encounter Fifty-Four: hospital corridor. She walked past him, clipboard tucked under her arm, speaking softly to an elderly man. Elias leaned against the wall, heart racing, pretending to read a poster about hand hygiene.
Encounter Fifty-Eight: late evening bus stop. She stood three steps away, scrolling through her phone, exhaustion etched into her posture. Elias considered saying her name, even though he didn't know it.
Encounter Sixty-One: grocery store aisle. Their hands reached for the same carton of milk. She laughed softly and stepped back.
"Go ahead," she said.
"No, you," Elias replied.
They smiled. Nothing else.
Each time, he wrote it down.
But the descriptions changed.
They grew longer. More emotional.
Less controlled.
Around Sixty-Five, his body began to betray him in public.
The first time it happened, he was standing in line for coffee when the room tilted suddenly, like the world had lost its balance. He gripped the counter, breathing shallowly, vision tunneling.
"Hey," someone said. "You okay?"
Elias nodded too quickly. "Just stood up too fast."
The lie tasted metallic.
He stumbled outside and sat on the curb, waiting for the spinning to stop. His phone buzzed.
Jonah: You alive?
Elias: Unfortunately.
Jonah: That's not funny.
Elias stared at the screen. I know.
Encounter Sixty-Eight came with rain again.
She was standing under an awning. The same one from the beginning.
Elias froze across the street, watching the scene echo itself.
She looked up at the sky, exasperated, rain dripping from her hair. She laughed at something on her phone.
Elias crossed the street without thinking.
The light changed.
A car honked.
He misjudged the curb and stumbled, catching himself awkwardly.
She turned at the sound.
Their eyes locked.
"Are you okay?" she asked, stepping toward him.
"Yes," Elias said automatically, then hesitated. "I mean. I think so."
She studied him, concern knitting her brows. "You don't look fine."
"I get that a lot," he said lightly.
She smiled, then sobered. "Do you need help?"
For a moment, Elias almost told her everything.
The counting. The fear. The notebook. The way her presence had anchored him when nothing else did.
Instead, he shook his head. "I'll be okay."
She hesitated, clearly unconvinced.
"Well," she said slowly, "if you ever aren't… you should ask."
He nodded. "I'll remember that."
She stepped back under the awning as the rain intensified.
Elias didn't join her.
That night, he wrote shakily.
Encounter Sixty-Eight. Rain again. She almost saw me.
He stared at the page until the words blurred.
Because the truth was, she had.
And he wasn't sure how much longer he could hide what she might find.