The city lights came alive one by one as night fell.

Evan didn’t go straight home after work.  

He walked through the downtown streets, hoping the air might clear his head.  

This part of town was far more polished than the one he lived in—lined with restaurants, luxury cars gliding past, laughter spilling from behind glass walls.  

Men in tailored suits, women in dresses that shimmered under streetlight.  

He carried his worn briefcase, feeling out of place in every reflection.

At the corner, a French restaurant came into view.  

The sign above the entrance read *Lucia Brasserie*.  

Through the window, chandeliers glowed warm gold over polished cutlery and wine glasses.

He glanced casually—and froze.  

There she was.  

Sienna.  

Seated near the window, hair pulled loosely back, wearing a crisp white blouse.  

Across from her were a few women—he recognized the faces, coworkers from the lounge.  

They laughed softly over glasses of red wine, their table glimmering with silverware and half-finished plates.  

She smiled. Not the careful, painted smile she used for clients, but something lighter. Real.  

And for a moment, he forgot to breathe.

From outside the glass, the world split cleanly in two.  

Inside: soft light, quiet music, wine that caught the glow.  

Outside: exhaust, footsteps, car horns, and him.  

He belonged to the outside. She didn’t.  

Something tightened in his chest as he stood there, watching her laugh.  

He couldn’t look away. But he couldn’t move closer either.

*We’re not meant to be,* he thought.  

And this time, the thought didn’t sting—it sank. Heavy. True.

He turned and walked away without looking back.  

No wave. No trace. Just the night swallowing his footsteps.

His apartment was silent as always.  

He showered, lay down, and stared at the ceiling, wide awake.  

The image wouldn’t leave his mind: her at that table, light on her face, wine glass in hand.  

A world apart.  

Then, the phone lit up.  

The alert sounded too loud for the quiet.

**[Did you pass by Lucia Brasserie tonight?]**

From Sienna.

Evan froze, pulse hammering.  

She’d seen him.  

A flood of questions hit all at once—Should he admit it? Pretend? Ignore it?  

After a long minute, he typed:

**[…Yeah.]**

He sent it. Held the phone tight. Waited.  

The screen stayed still.  

Minutes turned to hours.  

By midnight, he knew she wasn’t going to reply.

He lay there, eyes on the ceiling, caught between warmth and ache.  

She’d seen him. She knew.  

But she hadn’t asked why he didn’t come in.  

Hadn’t said *hi.*  

Just one flat question, like confirming a detail that didn’t matter.

The indifference stung more than silence.

And yet—despite it all—something in him filled up.  

A quiet, absurd satisfaction.  

At least she’d noticed him.  

At least, for a second, she’d looked his way.