Grooving to Life's Beat

Morning Tango with Fate

As the first light of dawn timidly spread across the New York City skyline, the city began to awaken from its deep slumber. The streets, once enveloped in shadows, now glistened with the promise of a new day. Storefronts cast off their nocturnal veil, inviting passersby with enchanting displays as people and traffic gradually filled its boulevards. And the scent of coffee filled the air as the city prepares to be the stage for the dramas, comedies, and tales of all kind of people. New York, like a colossal beast, yawned and stretched, ready to embrace the day's adventures. And so do I.

As I woke up to the rhythmic pulse of the city, the golden fingers of dawn stretched through my window, gently urging me into awareness. Still caught in the haze of dreams, I tangled with my blankets, their stubborn grip almost laughable. After a clumsy escape, my morning ballet began. I stumbled out of bed and I shuffled into the bathroom, catching my reflection in the round mirror. My dark hair tumbled over my shoulders in loose waves, and my wide, curious eyes stared back at me; eyes that always made people wonder if I had a secret stash of chocolate hidden somewhere.

And so, the routine began: a brisk dance before the mirror, a splash of icy water to jolt my senses awake, followed by a meticulous teeth-brushing ritual. A speedy shower later, I made a beeline for the kitchen, in pursuit of the day's elixir- coffee. Ah, the sweet nectar of the morning.

Just as I was taking that first glorious sip, my phone rang. Of course, it could be none other than my mother, the guardian of eternal overwatch. Morning chats with her always came with a side of unsolicited life advice. But, as they say, it's the little things that make life exciting - like hearing from my mom before my coffee even had a chance to fully wake me up.

"You haven't told Alexander you left for New York?" My mother's voice crackled through the phone with all the subtlety of a bullhorn.

"Morning, Mum!" I said, my voice laced with overly bright cheer as I pretended to sip my coffee.My cup, however, was in serious danger of being crushed in my grip. Honestly, it's like I'm unable to catch a break from thinking about him. Is he secretly paying her to bring him up?

"By the way, he sent you flowers..." She continued, sharp and to the point as always. There was a pause before I could muster a response.

"He sent me flowers?To Washington?" I asked,trying to sound indifferent, though curiosity crept into my voice. Inside, a whirlwind of emotions churned, pulling me in opposite directions.

"He most certainly did," she said, her tone tinged with a hint of satisfaction. And just like that, she dove headfirst into what felt like a sales pitch for him, rattling off reasons why getting back together made perfect sense. It was like she thought I could simply pick up where we left off, as if it were a decision on a restaurant menu. Yes, I'll take the ex-boyfriend special, please!

After the call, a cloud of confusion lingered over me. Alexander's flowers stirred old feelings, that bittersweet pull of being young and hopelessly romantic. But going back to him? That meant returning to Washington. The life my family wanted for me, full of carefully laid plans and expectations.

As tempting as it was, I'll say no to that.

I had no time for existential crisis. I glanced at the clock and bolted into my closet. I pulled on a white Chanel dress, classic and chic, grabbed my beautiful sling back shoes. With a coat slung over my shoulders and my phone buzzing nonstop in my hand, I flew out the door.

Buzz.

Logan's name flashed on the screen. "Still on for tonight? 7pm. Can't wait to catch up."

I was still typing a reply when the universe struck again.

Wham. A hard chest, a jolt, and two cups of hot coffee cascading over my white dress, scalding my skin and ruining both my outfit and my morning in one messy swoop.

No. No, no, no.
Not again.

I blinked up and froze. Those same piercing blue eyes from the night before were staring back at me. His expression? Pure fury. Great! bumping into Mr. Blue Eyes 2.0 was all I needed!

"You've got to be fucking kidding me! You again?" he snapped, brushing hot coffee off his now-soaked white T-shirt. That voice, rough, low, thick with street-slick attitude, could've stopped a train. Instead, it stopped me. Dead.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't see you," I blurted, ready to shrink into the size of a coffee bean to avoid the embarrassment.

"Yo, how 'bout you pull your head outta your ass and watch where you're goin'?" he barked. His eyes swept over me, fast but not unkind. Just... unimpressed.

I nodded quickly, heat rushing to my ears. "You're right. I'll... I'll be more careful." My gaze drifted to his tattooed arms. Intimidating, strong.

His jaw twitched. "Unbelievable," he muttered, turning on his heel and storming off, hands buried deep in his pockets. Even his stride had an air of frustration, each step dripping with irritation. I stood there, rooted to the spot, caught somewhere between embarrassment and an inexplicable fascination.

"Well done, Emma Spencer!" I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes at my own clumsiness.

Then, as if the universe hadn't had enough fun with me, I watched him head toward my building and realization hit like a jolt of caffeine: he was my neighbor.

Because clearly, in a city of millions, fate decided I only need to keep bumping into one: Mr. Blue Eyes himself.