“Thank you for the lovely evening tonight, Jucas.”

“The pleasure is surely mine, Miss Catalie,” Adam let go of the waitress's hand, softer than his domesticated cat back home. “Better yet, you should be thanking luck.”

“Luck?” Catalina Bouchie pretended to be a silly little infant, unsure about his responses. “Luck be in the air tonight, is what I’d say.”

Adam blew a soft breath alongside a quick shaking motion of his head, handsomely-shaped by God, in accordance with a smile of dismissal.

“No, no, mademoiselle,” the detective ran his gloved hands across his shoulders to enact strict measures for the eviction notice for any dust that had settled on his casual suit. “If my car hadn’t broken down, mayhaps we’d never have exchanged numbers.”

“N-numbers?”

To her surprise, Adam skillfully drew out a nametag from his mysterious pockets. On the opposing side of the rectangular piece of laminated plastic, a phone number had already been etched.

“An eye for an eye, or should I say… nametag,” some rogue neuron in Adam's brain instructed him to wink his eye. “My number awaits your presence on your tag. Through the night, you had been lost in your thoughts when you dropped yours. I didn’t dare to disturb your chain of mental processes, till the time seemed ripe. So it is. You still have mine tucked away in your purse, I believe.”

For a duration of two heartbeats, Catalie's mind cycled through the confusion.

“B-but, how did you know that I’ve already written down my number on it?”

“A simple glimpse of experience, m'lady,” Jucas pressed on the full throttle for ‘Flirt Mode' in his mind. However, he knew he wasn’t adaptive enough to know his limits, to be wary to not sound out of touch. “Surely, you hadn’t expected a man like myself to return back to the café on time. So you must’ve scribbled down your own number in case it goes missing again. A woman of your attitude knows how to be reliable in the right portions. Thus, a dutiful employee working with such passion at such an elegant establishment obviously knew the arts of humanism.”

The woman standing at the doorway of her apartment remained surprised, simultaneously freezing with intrigue by the expressions of the man she’d just met.

“Wow, you have good eyes, you know?” she let out a smile that showcased a shallow dimple. “But I find it strange. The way you talk, it’s so… formal. Almost seems stressed intentionally.”

She reached down to her purse dangling atop the curvature of her hips, the imitated golden decorations of the storage accessory dazzling under the fluorescent lights.

“Ah, well…” Adam redirected his body weight to roleplay as a Leaning Tower of Pisa on the freshly-limed wall beside Catalie’s door. In his mind, angry fireworks were being lit; he had lost control of the conversation. “A matter of old habits.”

“Oh,” Catalie pulled up the quirky detective’s official badge of identity. “Must be very peculiar habits then!”

Two pairs of hands swapped nametags.

Adam retracted his verbal misfires with a nervous laugh.

“If you say so.”

Catalie’s grip fastened on her door’s oblong handle.
“You’re such a strange man. A gentleman, too,” she switched her vocal tone to a silky sweet whisper. “Welcome to Vicilia, sir. Some people here call me strange, too. If you’re not busy, you’re more than welcome to explore some of my own habits.”

The door clicked shut.

Jucas flushed out all the neural connections affiliated with the female acquaintance, as a matter of old habits.

He immediately commanded his legs to commence on a stride to locate his own apartment. The celestial satellite visible outside the 2^nd floor corridor was already climbing down its saddle to make way for a much suitable star.

With the budget of time at hand, he wasn’t fortunate enough to call for aid from a local mechanic to fix his vehicle. And he was indubitably unfortunate enough to have to rent a room for the night at a place guided by the only person he found familiar – Catalina.

Noiselessly walking across the array of doors, his eyes glimpsed a name and number of the unit he just passed: “Radiyana D., 206”

For a reason unknown, Adam’s mind summoned an uneasy feeling in conjunction with the name.

Indeed, hardly a month had passed since he lost his wife bearing the same first name.

His trained mind kept all memories about her wrapped with dread and channeled at bay. He hoped that the namesake woman hadn’t undergone the same tragedy.

“205”

The lenient landlord rented out the empty apartments to anyone willing to pay, knowing that hotels might be a shade pricier than its long-term counterpart.

Jucas grasped the cold, stiff door handle and escorted his thoughts to sway towards other matters.

His nametag rested on his palm.

With an eager roll of the object, he observed the temporary numbers on the other side.

Immediately, out of utter shock, his pupils constricted. He wasn’t sure if he was truly expecting his predictions to align perfectly with reality, but the burst of confusion blew a great cloud of embarrassment, flavored by enigma. Nevertheless, his own eyes couldn’t believe this improbable sight.

It was his phone number instead of hers.