Chapter 2
Alex Chen's alarm buzzed like a tiny drill sergeant at six-thirty a.m. He slapped it shut and dangled an arm off the bed, blinking at the ceiling. His apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant rumble of traffic outside. He sat up, running a hand through thick black hair, mentally tallying everything on today's to-do list: a conference call at nine, a presentation at noon, a meeting with the boss in the afternoon, and probably three cups of too-weak coffee. His heart sank a little as he realized just how crammed his schedule was.
In the bathroom, Alex splashed cold water on his face and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes made him look a decade older. With one brow raised, he muttered, "Really, Chen? Someone once told you that vampire chic was in." He forced a tight smile, set his jaw, and practiced a few polite smiles and nods—like a social media tutorial for "I haven't slept in two days but I have this."
He skipped breakfast (again) and headed out into the cool morning. The city was still waking, the air crisp with hints of fall—the tang of damp earth from a recent rain, the smoke from someone's wood-stove lunch. Alex strode down the sidewalk in his pressed suit, briefcase in one hand and coffee cup in the other. The cup almost betrayed him, wobbling dangerously as he grappled with juggling coat and messenger bag. Somehow, he managed not to spill a drop on the way to the subway. Today was going to be one of those mornings, he thought, though he'd yet to guess just how many things could go wrong.
The subway car was crowded, full of slouches and early commuters. Alex stood near the door, back perfectly straight as usual, reading the news on his phone with furrowed concentration. He caught sight of someone nearby who gave up their seat for a woman with a stroller, and he felt an odd flutter in his chest. The unexpected kindness felt like a warm spot on an otherwise cold day. Alex shook his head and reminded himself to focus on his own world. He had deadlines to crush, not daydreams to indulge in.
At the office building, the elevator ride was quiet except for the soft hum of classical music piped in overhead. Alex stepped into the glass-walled conference room a minute early. A jar of fresh cinnamon-and-oatmeal energy bites sat on the table like some sort of corporate sacrament. A few colleagues were already there; Janice from marketing was animatedly gesturing as she explained her part of the project. Alex slid into a chair, dumping his bag by his feet, and the meeting began.
Later that morning, his stomach grumbled ominously as he realized he'd forgotten his breakfast on the counter at home. Alex tried to ignore it, pouring another cup of free office coffee (it was weak, but free), and braced himself for a late-morning slump. At least the boss's presentation went well – he received a curt nod of approval from Mr. Chen (no relation) when it ended, and Alex gave himself a small mental pat on the back. "Smooth, Chen. Maybe someday you'll manage to feel qualified about these things," he thought with a half-grin.
By lunchtime, the sky had cleared to a bright autumn blue. Alex decided to step out for fresh air. The streets were now bustling with locals clutching steaming drinks from cafés and huddled under coats. A gust of wind ruffled Alex's jacket and he tightened it around himself. He headed to a small park across the street to eat the granola bar he'd been hoarding in his briefcase. As he found a bench and sat, he watched a bicycle messengers weave expertly through traffic, a flowering tree shed leaves around him, and city noises swirl — horns, distant music, chatter. The simple scene should have felt restful, but Alex's mind stubbornly kept racing through afternoon tasks.
Just as he was taking a bite of the granola bar (tough little square of nuts and dark chocolate), his phone buzzed. It was his mother, calling from a family number. He sighed with relief and answered.
"Hey Mom," he said, fishing out the phone. "Everything okay?"
"It's fine, dear," she chirped warmly. Her voice was always bright, like a bell. But today Alex noticed a tiny hesitation in her tone. "I just wanted to hear your voice. You've been so busy lately, are you taking care of yourself?"
Alex hesitated, chewing. It was tough to explain the balanced plate of cheat codes he'd used to survive the week: coffee in lieu of breakfast, late nights in lieu of social life. "I'm… hanging in there. Work's been crazy," he managed, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt.
"I'm glad," his mother said softly. "I'm a little worried about your dad." Now Alex felt a quick tightening in his chest. His father's health had been a story of downturned lab results and whispered doctor's notes. "Your sister's still working in Ireland on that project, but you know your dad hates missing out on things. I made him promise to take his medication on time."
Alex closed his eyes, touched. Despite the miles between them, his mother always took care of everyone. A part of him ached to rush home, to help. But he pulled away from the urge. "I love you, Mom. I'll come by next weekend. Maybe I can pick up some groceries for you two," he said.
"Oh, that would be lovely," she said, brightening. "And Alex — remember to eat lunch, alright? Even a sandwich out, or those sushi rolls you like."
He smiled ruefully. "I promise I will," he said, realizing Mom had successfully guilted him into a promise.
They hung up after a few more minutes of small-talk — his sister's cat's newest antics, a joke about his father telling the dog off for stealing his chair — and Alex bit back a grin. Mom had done it again; just one call, and she'd scraped away part of his armor of busyness. For a moment, he sat staring at the empty phone screen, feeling a strange mix of warmth and something heavier, like worry he'd been suppressing. He pushed the feelings down and ate the granola bar before it melted on his hand.
Back in the office, the afternoon passed in a blur of emails and to-do lists. Alex kept an eye on the clock. Finally, at 5:30 p.m. exactly, he shut his laptop with a definitive snap. The day was technically "over," even if his to-do list was only half done. It might not have been his best day ever, but at least he'd survived it in one piece.
"Good night, cubicle," he muttered on his way out, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. Outside, the sun was lowering, painting long shadows on the sidewalk. He walked toward the little café on the corner where he often stopped for an evening pick-me-up. The air smelled of fresh-baked bread and roasted beans as he approached — comfort scents after a day full of deadlines. He pushed open the glass door and entered.
The café was warm and softly lit, with jazz playing low in the background. A barista behind the counter greeted him with a nod as he joined a short line. As he waited, Alex's eyes scanned the cozy interior: customers huddled over laptops, a couple sharing a slice of cake at a corner table, steam rising from latte art. He sighed in satisfaction. This place always calmed him.
A spot by the window caught his eye — the soft orange light picked out the golden edges of falling leaves on the sidewalk outside. He hoped for that table. As he stepped forward to order, he nearly collided with someone turning into an empty seat.
"Sorry!" Alex exclaimed and steadied himself.
The voice wasn't unfamiliar; warm yet soft. He glanced at the woman, surprised. She had curly chestnut hair loosely pulled back, oversized glasses that slid down her nose as she bent to set down her sketchbook, and a paint-stained apron. Alex realized — this was the woman he'd spotted once in the building's lobby last week, idly humming while doodling on a notepad. A hint of recognition sparked in him.
"Oh, no, my fault," she said, flashing a kind smile. Their eyes met briefly — hers a clear green, his a dark brown — and then Alex quickly looked away, embarrassment rising. His coffee order now forgotten, he realized he had just been rude, standing awkwardly in the middle of the counter space.
The barista cleared her throat politely. "Can I help you?"
Alex jerked his gaze forward. "Uh, one black coffee, please," he mumbled.
He stepped aside to pay, passing the woman as he did. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her table. She had a small watercolor set and was carefully sketching a street scene. The strokes on the paper looked almost like they could come to life. Something about the way her hand moved was strangely... soothing.
"Tall latte," the barista called, and Alex retrieved the cup. He scanned for a seat. Across the room, he caught the woman's attention again — she had looked up, eyebrows slightly raised, maybe in amusement at his blunder, then returned to her art.
Alex chose a chair with a view of her. Not too close (that'd be weird), but close enough. He settled with his coffee, sipping the too-bitter sweetness as he watched. He wasn't sure what made him curious about this stranger. Perhaps it was the way the café light caught her hair, or the effortless serenity on her face as she painted.
He sipped, and the warmth of the coffee blossomed through him. Outside, the sidewalk was strewn with colorful leaves, and an elderly couple walked past arm in arm, laughing softly. Alex's chest tightened unexpectedly. He stole another glance at the painter. Maybe the simple happiness of the couple reminded him of all the precious little moments he missed while sprinting through life.
A small line forming at the door signaled more customers entering, disrupting the soft afternoon. Alex drained the last of his coffee. He felt a slow exhale leave him, as if releasing the stress of the day. Rising, he picked up his bag to leave.
As he strode past the woman's table, his eyes caught the sketch she had been working on. It was a delicate painting of the corner café they were in, down to the tiny pastries in the display. Their eyes met properly this time, and Alex managed a polite nod and small smile. She returned it with a nod of her own, cheeks faintly rosy.
"Nice work," he blurted, stepping back a bit too fast.
Her smile deepened. "Thank you," she said softly, and Alex could swear there was something in her eyes — sympathy? curiosity? It was hard to tell.
He left the café into the cooling dusk, heart pulsing a little faster than it should have. Outside, the street lamps were flickering on, and the world was settling into evening. As he walked home, he realized he had been strolling without purpose. In his hand was an empty coffee cup, inside a faint trace of sugar, now cold to the touch.
The figure in the café — something about her had tugged at Alex's thoughts. Had their eyes really met? Was it a coincidence or a hint of something else, like the old cliché that fate liked to tease people with near misses?
He gave himself an internal shake. "Focus, Alex," he chided under his breath. "She's probably talented or something, a local artist. That's it."
But even as he resolved that, a quiet curiosity bloomed inside him. He glanced back once down the street, half-expecting to see her watching him walk away. The sidewalk was empty, lamps glowing, no sign of her. He sighed and turned the corner, heading home.
Still, somewhere in his thoughts, those green eyes and the gentle kindness in her smile lingered, like the last swirl of cream in a drained cup of coffee.