The rain had stopped, but the sound of it lingered in his head  -  the rhythm of it tapping against the glass walls of that café, the image of her running across the zebra crossing with that forest-green umbrella, her laughter spilling into the air like it belonged there.

He hadn't realised how many times the scene had replayed in his mind since he got back home.

Now, at night, the house felt calm  -  soft lights, a faint smell of lemon polish, and his mother humming somewhere in the background. He came downstairs, still lost in the echo of the evening, just to grab something to eat. But what caught his eye was his mother  -  moving briskly between the kitchen and living room, fluffing cushions, rearranging vases, and wiping spotless counters as if an inspection was due.

He leaned against the doorway, half amused.

"Am I missing something? You've been cleaning for hours," he said, opening the fridge casually.

Without looking up, she replied, "We have guests coming over tomorrow. I just want everything to look nice."

"Guests?" he asked, distractedly taking out a glass of water, his thoughts still half in the café  -  her smile, the sound of her laughter when she hugged that girl.

"Yes," his mother said cheerfully. "An old friend from university. It's been years. We ran into each other last week - "

He froze mid-sip. Something about that sentence tugged at his attention. His mother kept talking, half to herself, "We talked for a while, and I invited her and her family for dinner tomorrow."

Absentmindedly, he repeated, "Who's coming tomorrow?"

His mother turned, smiling. "You remember the friend we met at the decor store? It's her. She'll be bringing her husband and daughter."

And just like that, the glass almost slipped from his hand.

Wait.

No way.

He blinked, trying to make sure he heard right  -  the same decor store, the same friend? It couldn't be - 

He stayed frozen, the realisation hitting him with a mix of disbelief and the tiniest flicker of panic.

If it was her mother... then that meant - 

"Oh," he said, voice tight, trying to act casual but failing miserably. "That's... nice."

His mother eyed him suspiciously. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, just... water went down the wrong way," he muttered, setting the glass down before she noticed the faint smile tugging at his lips.

He turned away, hiding the small, incredulous grin forming.

Of course. Of course, this would happen.

He didn't know whether to laugh or panic. But somehow, deep down, the thought of seeing her again  -  this time not as a classmate or a project partner, but across his own dinner table  -  made his heart beat faster.

The rain had softened into a drizzle outside her window. She sat at her study desk, a cup of steaming tea beside her, scrolling absently through the project notes they had finalised just two days ago. Everything had gone perfectly  -  their presentation, their teamwork  -  even their quiet understanding that day at the library.

But tonight, she couldn't focus. Maybe it was because her mother had been oddly cheerful since evening, humming as she prepped dessert and checked the dining linens.

"Mama, what's all this for?" she finally asked, smiling.

Her mother turned, delighted. "Oh, I didn't tell you! We're invited to dinner tomorrow. An old friend from university  -  I met her last week after so long, and she was so sweet to invite us."

She blinked. "Oh? That's nice. Who is she?"

Her mother mentioned the name casually, the same one she had heard back at the decor store  -  and the spoon in her hand paused midair.

For a second, her mind felt like it had blanked out.

No way.

Her heart skipped, and before she could react, her mother kept talking, "You'll really like her family. They're lovely people."

If only she knew.

She forced a small smile. "That's... interesting."

But inside, her thoughts tangled in disbelief and quiet amusement.

Tomorrow? Dinner? At their house?

The world had such a funny way of weaving circles  -  small coincidences, quiet intersections, and people bumping into each other again and again until something starts to make sense.

She leaned back in her chair, the corner of her lips lifting slightly.

She didn't know how the dinner would go, or how she'd act when she saw him again  -  in a place that wasn't the classroom, or the library, or a café window.

But she did know one thing: life had a strange sense of timing.

And maybe, just maybe... this was one of those nights that would lead to something unexpected.