𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 • 𝐌𝐉

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Three: Meetings

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Julie jogged discreetly to a secluded spot behind a nearby store, her breath quick, a mixture of adrenaline and something else—something unfamiliar. The midday air bit at her skin, but her mind was far from the chill. Her thoughts kept circling back to the man she'd bumped into, his presence lingering like an echo she couldn't shake. "He's a cutie," she thought again, her heart betraying her with a flutter that she quickly scolded herself for. No room for distractions, not now.

She answered her phone, her brother's voice grounding her in the moment. But even as she spoke to him, she could feel the memory of his gaze—the way his eyes had locked onto hers for that brief second—and the strange pull in her chest that came with it. She shook her head slightly, trying to focus on her conversation, but the thought of him clung to her like a shadow she couldn't outrun.

Meanwhile, Michael was riding the elevator, each floor taking him farther from the street where he'd last seen her. His grip tightened on the closed umbrella in his hand, the other cradling his cracked phone like it was something far more important than it really was. He was lost in his thoughts, pulled between the vague apology he still felt he owed his sister and the intoxicating memory of the stranger—the woman who smelled of fresh vanilla and something soft, something impossibly warm.

The elevator dinged, dragging him back to the present. He stepped out into the quiet of the building, the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead doing little to shake the thoughts swirling in his head. The desk attendant greeted him, her smile polite but distant. "Good afternoon, sir."

Michael gave a curt nod, barely acknowledging her before moving swiftly down the hall. He felt the weight of his thoughts press down on him, and by the time he reached his office, the door clicking shut behind him felt like a finality.

With a sigh, he tossed his umbrella onto the loveseat, the sound of it landing soft but final. He placed his cracked phone on the desk, the slight tremor in his hands betraying the chaos in his mind. He sank into the chair, spinning it slowly to face the dark windows. Through them, he could almost imagine the warmth of sunlight, something he hadn't felt in so long. His immortal existence kept him separate from the simple joys of life—like feeling the sun on his skin—and that aching void was always there, just beneath the surface.

But then, the scent came back to him, rising like steam in the air. He glanced down at his palm, as though the memory of her touch might still be there, lingering. It wasn't just the scent; it was the way she had apologized so clumsily, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. It was the vulnerability in her eyes, like she didn't even realize the way her presence had affected him. Something stirred deep within him—a need, an undeniable hunger—that felt both foreign and familiar at once.

He shut his eyes, and there she was—her face etched into his mind as if it had never left. Her dirty blonde hair tumbled loosely around her face, a few strands catching the light like soft ribbons. She smiled, awkward but genuine, a hint of vulnerability in her expression. That smile—it was the kind of thing that stayed with you long after it faded. It was maddening, how her image lingered, how it stirred something deep inside him that he hadn't felt in years.

Opening his eyes, he let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him. He had no idea what had just happened between them, but whatever it was, it was enough to pull him back into a world he'd left behind—a world where real feelings existed, where they had the chance to take root.

"This place doesn't feel right, Jack," Julie's voice, quiet and tinged with unease, whispered through the phone, breaking the spell. She was there, in that city, a place that was both foreign and overwhelming, a stark contrast to everything she knew. "It's too big. I don't know if I can handle it."