Ethan woke up before sunrise again. This time it was not because of the market. It was because of her. His heart beat faster than usual and his hands felt restless. He showered, dressed in something that looked cleaner than his usual hoodie, and left his apartment with a nervous energy that even caffeine could not give him.

The morning air in New York felt cooler than he expected. He walked through the streets that were just starting to fill with people in suits, coffee cups, and tired eyes. He carried his phone in his pocket but did not check stock prices. For once, his screen did not control his morning. He was walking toward Broad Street, toward the office of the brokerage, toward the girl whose voice had somehow changed his days.

He reached the building and stopped outside. The sign read Harrington Brokerage Services, a name he had seen a hundred times in emails and trade confirmations but never noticed before. He took a deep breath and walked inside. The lobby smelled like fresh paper and coffee. There were posters about “Smart Investing” and “Trade Responsibly.” He smiled at the irony.

The receptionist asked for his name, then pointed him to the second floor. His shoes felt heavy as he climbed the stairs. Every step felt like a decision. He wondered what she looked like. He imagined her with light brown hair or maybe black hair tied back neatly. He pictured calm eyes and a soft expression. But what if she looked at him and saw just another trader, just another client chasing numbers.

He reached the second floor and saw a row of desks behind glass partitions. Phones were ringing, people were typing fast, and screens showed market feeds. It felt like every other trading room except for one difference. Somewhere in there was Sophie.

A woman at the front desk looked up and smiled politely. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Sophie Bennett,” he said, trying to sound confident.

The woman nodded and turned toward the rows of desks. “Sophie, you have a client.”

He saw her before she saw him. She stood from her desk and turned around. She was younger than he expected, maybe twenty-one, with soft hair tied behind her head and clear eyes that looked curious more than serious. She wore a simple white blouse and gray slacks, nothing fancy, but the way she moved made everything else in the room slow down.

“Ethan Miles?” she asked with a small smile.

He nodded. “Yeah. That’s me.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. It was strange, meeting someone whose voice he knew so well but whose face was brand new. She broke the silence first. “So you wanted to place an order in person?”

He laughed lightly. “That’s the excuse.”

She smiled wider now, and he saw that her smile reached her eyes. “Then let’s use the excuse. Come here.”

He followed her to her desk. Her workspace was neat, with sticky notes and a small cactus plant by the monitor. A half-drunk cup of coffee sat next to a notebook filled with quick notes in tidy handwriting. She sat down and motioned for him to sit in the chair across from her.

“So,” she said, typing into the terminal, “what are we trading today?”

He leaned forward. “Honestly, I didn’t come for a trade. I just wanted to meet the person behind the voice that kept saving me from system errors.”

She tilted her head slightly. “That’s very honest. Most traders aren’t.”

“I’m not like most traders,” he said.

“I noticed,” she replied.

He chuckled. “You did say that yesterday.”

She looked at him with calm eyes. “You look different from how I imagined.”

“How did you imagine me?”

She hesitated, then said softly, “More arrogant. Less human.”

He laughed again, not offended. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She smiled. “It is.”

For a while, they just talked. About trading, about school, about coffee, about random things that did not belong in a brokerage office. The more they talked, the more he realized how simple she was. Not simple in a bad way—simple like someone who still found joy in small things. She told him she liked walking through bookstores even when she couldn’t afford new books. She said she listened to jazz when she studied because it made her feel like she was living in an old movie. She said her dream was to work in financial counseling for small families, not hedge funds.

He found himself smiling more than he had in months.

At one point, her supervisor passed by and gave them a brief look. Sophie lowered her voice. “We should probably pretend we’re doing something work related,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Then place a small order for me.”

She opened a trade window. “What stock?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Pick one you like.”

She thought for a second and typed in a symbol. “Maple Tech. They make software for education systems. Small company. Not flashy, but stable.”

“Sounds like you,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow. “Stable?”

“Not flashy,” he said with a playful grin.

She rolled her eyes and hit enter. “Order executed.”

“There,” he said. “Now it’s official. My first trade with you in person.”

She smiled again, softer this time. “You’re strange, Ethan Miles.”

“I get that a lot.”

Their eyes met. For a moment, he forgot where he was. He forgot the screens, the noise, the numbers. Everything else faded.

Then her phone rang, breaking the moment. She picked it up, professional again. “Good morning, customer support, this is Sophie.” Her voice shifted back into that calm tone he knew so well. He watched her handle the call efficiently, polite and patient. When she hung up, he could not stop staring.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “You’re good at this. Too good.”

“I just listen,” she said. “People like when you listen.”

He leaned back. “Yeah, they do.”

He stayed a little longer, watching her type and talk. When it was time to go, he stood slowly. “Thanks for letting me stop by.”

“I didn’t let you,” she said with a teasing tone. “You just showed up.”

“And you didn’t kick me out. So that counts.”

She smiled again, that same soft curve that made his chest feel light. “Maybe next time make an appointment.”

“Next time?” he asked.

She met his eyes. “Maybe.”

He left the office and stepped into the busy street. The world felt louder now, but also brighter. He walked without checking his phone, without thinking about charts. The city noise mixed with the sound of her voice still echoing in his head.

That night he opened his laptop, ready to trade again. But when he looked at the charts, they didn’t pull him in the same way. He still liked trading. It was still his world. But something had shifted. For the first time, numbers didn’t feel like everything.

He opened his notebook and wrote again.

Met Sophie today. She smiled. It felt like profit.

He stared at the words for a long time, then closed the book and turned off his screen. The room was quiet. The city outside glowed. For once, Ethan Miles didn’t need the market to feel alive.