At seven-thirty in the morning, the subway was packed tight.  

Evan moved with the crowd like a pebble swept along by the tide.  

He’d grown used to it—pushed, pulled, carried through the same tunnels every day.  

Swipe in. Sit down. Stare at spreadsheets until the lines blurred.  

Lunch from a convenience store.  

Dinner, if not stuck at work, back in that narrow apartment that never quite felt like home.  

His life ticked forward like a wound-up clock—steady, repetitive, a little too quiet.  

Only at night, when the city’s noise faded, would his mind wander back to that hotel lounge—  

to *her*.  

Sienna.  

The way she’d said, *“You’re funny.”*  

The way her smile had softened something in him.  

He hadn’t seen her since.  

Weeks slipped by unnoticed.

One Friday, his supervisor clapped a hand on his shoulder again.  

“Client dinner tonight. You’re coming.”

Evan’s stomach gave a small twist.  

He thought of the lounge lights, the smoke, the faint perfume that lingered on his sleeve that night.  

He told himself not to expect anything, but the spark was there—quiet, persistent, impossible to ignore.

By nightfall, the hotel was alive again.  

Music pulsed through the corridors; the door opened to the same rush of perfume and laughter.  

Women in shimmering dresses stepped inside, all smiles and practiced charm.  

But the face he was looking for wasn’t among them.  

Something in his chest dropped.

A woman in a short red dress slid into the seat beside him.  

Her smile was bright, her eyes quick.  

“Hi, I’m Rachel,” she said, offering her hand.

He blinked, then shook it politely. “Evan.”

She leaned closer, voice warm and playful.  

“You don’t look like someone who comes here much.”

“Not really,” he said with a faint smile.

“Well, once in a while’s not so bad,” she teased. “Keeps life interesting.”

Her laugh was light and easy, practiced but pleasant.  

He nodded, replied here and there, but his attention kept drifting.  

His thoughts were already elsewhere.

The night dragged on—glass after glass, laughter stacking over itself.  

Rachel kept the table alive, smooth and professional.  

To anyone watching, it was a perfect Friday night.  

To Evan, it was noise behind glass—he could see it, but it didn’t reach him.  

When the dinner finally ended, he followed the group out into the night.  

Cool air hit his lungs, washing away the heaviness.  

He was about to leave when he saw her.  

Across the entrance, Sienna stood by the door, bowing slightly as she walked clients out.  

Her smile was polite, distant, but unmistakable.  

Evan froze. His pulse kicked hard.  

For a second, he hesitated. Then the thought came clear as daylight—  

*Not this time.*

He stepped forward. His voice trembled.  

“Sienna.”

She looked up, startled at first, then smiled faintly.  

“Hey. You again.”

The wind moved through her hair, soft and effortless.  

Evan drew a breath, every nerve in his body awake.  

“Could I… get your number?”

The words came out before he could stop them, heartbeat loud enough to fill his ears.  

Sienna held his gaze for a long moment—half-smiling, unreadable—before finally speaking.