You ever get the feeling the universe is trying to warn you, but like, in vibes instead of words?

Because, yeah. That’s how my Saturday starts.

I should’ve known something was off. The train came early, which never happens. The old man who usually argues with pigeons wasn’t outside the bodega. And my neighbor on 17C? Silent. Not even her usual 8 a.m. soap opera blaring through the walls.

Still, I put on my headphones, twist my curls into a messy bun, and dance-walk to the beat of my playlist like nothing’s weird. Because I’m not about to let a few cosmic red flags mess up my only day off.

Besides, this is New York. Weird is the default setting.

As I step onto the sidewalk, the sound of my sneakers tapping the concrete fills the empty street. It’s early, but the city’s awake, buzzing with that familiar hum of people rushing to nowhere. I kind of like it, that weird sense of everyone moving at once, like we’re all part of something bigger. It makes me feel like I’m not alone, even when I totally am.

I stop at the crosswalk. The light’s red, so I glance around, watching as the usual Saturday morning rush rolls by: people walking dogs, businessmen in too-tight suits, tourists trying to figure out how to look like they know where they’re going. It’s a little funny, really.

I’m used to this routine. It’s what keeps me grounded, you know? Wake up, dance, stretch, grab coffee, repeat. A soft routine in a world that’s anything but soft.

Then, I catch him.

Not at first, I almost miss him, actually. He’s standing across the street, like he’s waiting for something or someone, but not in that obvious “waiting-for-my-date” kind of way. More like a shadow in the crowd. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about the way he stands that makes my heartbeat a little quicker.

He’s tall, with a black jacket, like he’s trying to blend in. But there’s no way anyone could blend in with that icy blue gaze cutting through the crowd like he’s looking right through them. It’s weird. I’m usually so good at reading people, but he? He’s like a blank slate, unreadable.

I catch myself staring. Not just a glance. A full-on, did-I-just-lose-my-mind stare.

His eyes narrow, catching me in the act, and I quickly look away, embarrassed. But something about that look lingers in the air, like an unspoken warning I can’t shake.

I shake my head, trying to dismiss the unease creeping in. No big deal, right? He’s just some random guy. I’ll never see him again.

I wish I knew then just how wrong I was.