NO REASON

Chapter 4: What are the odds?

The soft morning light came through the curtains as I lay in bed, not wanting to get up. Even though I tried to sleep in, my body was used to waking up early.

With a sigh, I got out of bed and headed to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee was a comforting start to my day.

I went outside into the quiet city streets. The early morning was still and peaceful, with only birds singing and leaves rustling in the breeze.

At the bakery, I greeted the shopkeepers with a nod, enjoying the small talk as a distraction from my thoughts.

When I left with a loaf of fresh bread, I saw him out of the corner of my eye. The stranger was standing there in sports clothes, looking fit and energetic after his run. I couldn’t take my eyes off him—he looked strong and graceful.

Then he turned and saw me. His eyes met mine with an intensity that made me shiver. But instead of being cold, he smiled warmly.

My heart raced as he walked over to me, each step bringing him closer. When he reached out to greet me, I felt a thrill.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice smooth. “What are you doing out on this nice day?”

I smiled back, feeling bold. “Just getting some bread from the bakery,” I said, showing him the loaf. “And enjoying the morning.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “The simple things in life are the best.”

Feeling encouraged, I asked the question I’d been thinking about. “Where have you been?” I blurted out.

He raised an eyebrow and teased, “Did you miss me?”

I blushed but didn’t back down. “Maybe,” I said with a shy smile. “I haven’t seen you around. Everything okay?”

His expression changed, and he seemed a bit tense. “Just busy with work,” he said, though his voice was slightly off.

I nodded, sensing he wasn’t telling the whole story. Before I could ask more, the conversation took a turn.

“Do you know about the crime behind the nightclub?” I asked, curious.

His face turned serious, and his warm demeanor disappeared. “Yes, it’s a tragedy,” he said, his voice cold.

I asked cautiously, “Wasn’t the girl from the crime scene someone you knew from the club?”

His expression hardened. “No, she wasn’t a friend,” he said firmly. “Just someone I met briefly. She got... too attached.”

I nodded, noticing his discomfort. “I understand,” I said, not wanting to press him further. But there was still a sense of unease.

“I left her at the club after she got very drunk,” he said, sounding regretful. “I should have made sure she got home safely.”

He trailed off, and I felt sympathy for him. “Tragedies happen,” I said softly, putting a comforting hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault.”

Despite his explanation, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something. He seemed to justify himself too strongly, which made me doubt his truthfulness.

But looking into his eyes, I saw sincerity and vulnerability. I decided to trust him and the connection we were starting to form. Maybe I was overthinking it.

After all, tragedies happen, and sometimes there's no rhyme or reason to them.