I stood there for ten seconds.
Not "it felt long." Not dramatic. Just ten.
My mind counted them like code running in the background.
One. Two. Three.
She didn't turn back.
Four. Five. Six.
The crowd swallowed her whole.
Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
I adjusted my cuffs.
Again.
It didn't fix anything, but it never does. It just gives my hands something to do while everything else stays out of control.
I walked out.
Not fast. Not slow. Just… steady.
The doors closed behind me and London breathed cold air into my face. Real air. Not filtered. Not controlled. For a second, I felt it. Then it was gone.
The car was waiting. It always is.
"Hotel?" Daniel asked.
I looked out at the street. People moving like nothing had shifted. Like the world hadn't just… tilted slightly.
"No," I said. "Drive."
He didn't ask where.
We moved.
London blurred into lights and passing shadows. I watched everything and nothing at the same time. My mind kept replaying her. Not in some exaggerated way. Just small details.
Her voice.
Her eyes.
The way she said it.
I've got a boyfriend.
Simple. Clean. Final.
No hesitation. No second thought.
That part stayed with me.
"Stop here."
The car slowed near a quiet café. Warm lights behind glass. People inside living lives that didn't require strategy.
"I'll be inside," I said.
"Alone?"
"Yes."
Inside, no one cared who I was. No cameras. No noise. Just the smell of coffee and something sweet.
I ordered tea. Sat down. Did nothing.
That's when it hit me properly.
Why her?
I've met people designed to be unforgettable. Faces crafted, voices trained, personalities refined like products.
They don't last.
They never do.
But her?
She stayed.
She said no.
That should've ended it.
In my world, things are simple. If something doesn't align, you move on. Efficient. Clean.
So why wasn't I?
I took a sip of tea. It didn't help.
The next day, I saw her again.
Outside the venue. Laughing with someone.
That caught me off guard.
She didn't look like someone who laughed easily. But when she did, it wasn't controlled. It wasn't careful.
It was real.
I walked up to her.
"Gregory," she said.
Not surprised. Just… aware.
"Rebecca."
A pause.
"I can drop you somewhere," I said.
She shook her head. "I'm good."
No hesitation.
"You're turning down a free ride."
"Yeah."
"Most people don't."
She shrugged. "I'm not most people."
That stayed with me.
"Dinner," I said. "After work."
That small shift in her eyes again.
"I told you," she said. "I've got a boyfriend."
"I remember."
"Then why ask?"
"Because I'm asking you. Not him."
Silence.
She studied me for a second. Not impressed. Not flustered. Just… thinking.
Then she shook her head.
"Still no."
And walked past me.
Again.
I didn't follow.
I didn't call her back.
I just stood there.
Shorter this time.
But enough.
That night, I decided.
Not emotionally. Just… clearly.
"I need information," I said.
The investigator didn't ask questions. He just nodded.
"On who?"
I gave him her name.
Rebecca Quinn.
"Forty-eight hours."
"Twenty-four."
A pause.
"Understood."
She refused me twice.
Ride. Dinner.
That should've been the end.
Instead… it became something else.
I sent her coffee the next morning.
She didn't take it.
Left it sitting there like it didn't exist.
Lunch later.
She gave it away.
Flowers.
They stayed outside her door for hours. Then disappeared.
I don't know if she kept them.
Or threw them away.
I should've stopped.
Everything I know says I should have.
But I didn't feel that.
I felt… interested.
More than that.
I felt awake.
The report came the next evening.
Rebecca Quinn. Twenty-four. Photographer. Junior reporter.
Small apartment in North London.
Lives with her grandmother. Takes care of her.
Parents gone.
No secrets. No scandals. Nothing hidden.
Just… simple.
I read it more than once.
Looking for something that would explain this.
There wasn't anything.
And somehow, that made it worse.
I cancelled my meetings.
All of them.
Cities, deals, timelines.
Gone.
No one stopped me.
They never do.
I stayed in London.
Days passed. Then more.
"You're still here," Daniel said.
"Yes."
"For her?"
I looked at him. Said nothing.
He nodded anyway.
The next file came with photos.
Candid. Unfiltered.
Real.
She was outside her building. Morning light soft against her face. Hair tied back, slightly messy. No effort. No performance.
She bent down and picked up a newspaper. Careful. Gentle. Like it mattered.
"For her grandmother," the note said.
The next photo—she was smiling.
Not at the camera.
At someone inside.
The door half open. Warm light spilling out.
I stared at that one longer than I should have.
Her eyes…
Not striking. Not dramatic.
But steady.
Kind.
Real.
Something in my chest shifted. Tightened.
I leaned back, still holding the photo.
I've built systems that predict people. Patterns, behaviors, outcomes.
And yet…
I couldn't explain this.
Why her?
Why now?
Why this?
I set the photo down. Picked up my tea.
The warmth barely registered.
I might be obsessed.
The thought came quietly.
Or maybe…
Something worse.
I took a sip.
Watched the steam disappear.
I think I love her.