Jennifer's POV:
Jennifer's shift was barely halfway through, but already, the store felt suffocating. The fluorescent lights hummed, casting a cold, sterile glow over the aisles of half-empty shelves and flickering signs. It was almost 1:00 a.m., and the usual late-night crowd had thinned out to just a few scattered stragglers—people like her, who had nowhere else to be.
She yawned, leaning against the counter near the self-checkout lanes, her mind drifting. The rhythmic beep of scanned items, the faint shuffle of footsteps on the tile, and the occasional distant rattle of a shopping cart were the only sounds breaking the silence. Jennifer ran her fingers through her messy ponytail and checked the clock again, wishing for the night to pass faster.
A few moments later, the automatic doors at the entrance slid open with a soft whoosh, and in walked a tall figure, slightly hunched over as if trying to avoid drawing attention. He had messy dark hair, a leather jacket that was probably too warm for the time of year, and a pair of sunglasses perched on his head, despite the lack of sunlight. Jennifer raised an eyebrow—people in her small town didn't usually dress like that, especially at this hour.
He moved with a kind of confidence that felt out of place in a grocery store at 1 a.m., like he was in the middle of something bigger than the aisles of canned goods and milk cartons. As he passed by the frozen food section, Jennifer caught a glimpse of the logo on his T-shirt—a band name, something she didn't quite recognize.
A few minutes later, he approached the counter, holding a basket with a pack of gum, a bottle of water, and an oddly large bag of chips. He looked at her, and for a brief second, their eyes met.
Jennifer wasn't used to this kind of attention. She wasn't particularly bad-looking, but her late-night shifts rarely involved any kind of interaction beyond the occasional grumpy customer or the store's over-enthusiastic regulars. So when the guy gave her a slight smile, it threw her off.
"Hey," he said casually, his voice deep but with a hint of exhaustion, "I was wondering if you have any more of those hot sauce packets. The ones by the checkout?"
Jennifer blinked, surprised by the question. "Uh, yeah. I can grab some for you." She pushed away from the counter, the cold tile against her bare feet feeling more like a reminder of her tiredness than any sense of urgency.
"I'll come with you," he said, following her down the aisle. She didn't know if it was the quiet of the night, or the fact that there was something strange about the way he moved—so relaxed but intense at the same time—but she couldn't help but notice how his presence seemed to fill the space around them.
As they reached the small stand of condiments by the end of the aisle, he finally spoke again.
"I'm Vic," he said, leaning casually against the shelf, looking at her with a slight grin. "Not a big fan of grocery stores at this hour, but sometimes, you just need... well, hot sauce and chips, you know?"
Jennifer gave a small laugh, feeling a little less awkward now that the conversation had shifted to something more normal. "Yeah, I get that. I'm Jennifer," she said, grabbing a packet of hot sauce from the shelf and handing it to him. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something oddly familiar about his face, but she couldn't place it.
He took the packet from her and gave a quick nod. "Thanks."
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The space between them felt charged in a way Jennifer didn't quite understand. It wasn't anything overt, just an odd sense of recognition, like they had stepped into the same moment without even knowing why.
