Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The morning sun is already high, casting long, warm rays onto the bustling city streets as you sprint down the sidewalk. The panic in your chest grows with every step—you overslept again, and now you're running late for work. Your mind races through the list of tasks waiting for you, all the things you should have already started on, while you weave through the crowd, trying not to bump into anyone as you go.
But in your rush, it happens. You round a corner at full speed and collide with someone. The impact knocks the breath out of you, and before you can even register what's happened, you feel something warm splashing across your front.
"Oh no!" The voice is deep, with a distinct Australian accent. You stagger back, your eyes wide as you look down at your shirt—now soaked with coffee, a dark stain spreading rapidly across the fabric.
The guy you ran into is equally flustered, his empty coffee cup hanging limply in his hand. He's tall, with blond hair and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks, his eyes wide with shock and guilt. "I'm so sorry!" he exclaims, his voice full of genuine concern. "I didn't see you—I should've been more careful. Are you okay?"
Your heart sinks as you stare at your ruined shirt. Today of all days. Your only white blouse, now completely unwearable. The stain is too large, too obvious, and there's no way you can go to work looking like this.
But then it hits you—this wasn't entirely his fault. You were the one rushing, not paying attention to where you were going. "No, no, it's not just you," you blurt out, looking up at him. "I wasn't paying attention either. I'm so sorry for running into you."
His expression softens at your words, the guilt in his eyes easing a little. "Still, I should've been more careful. This is all my fault."
You both stand there for a moment, the reality of the situation sinking in. You're late for work, your shirt is ruined, and now you're stuck in an awkward encounter with a total stranger. You can't help the sigh that escapes you as you glance around, realizing there's no way to fix this quickly.
"I... I don't know what to do," you admit, frustration seeping into your voice. "I have to get to work, but I can't go in like this."
He runs a hand through his blond hair, clearly trying to think of a solution. Then, as if struck by inspiration, he quickly unzips the jacket he's wearing. "Here," he says, holding it out to you. "Take my jacket. It's not a perfect fix, but it'll cover the stain, at least until you can change."
You stare at the jacket he's offering—a black hoodie that looks warm and slightly oversized. "I can't just take your jacket," you protest, even though you know it's probably your best option right now.
"Please, I insist," he says, his voice sincere and a little desperate. "It's the least I can do after spilling coffee all over you. Plus, you're late, right? Just take it, and maybe... maybe we'll run into each other again so you can give it back."
