Falling between us

FALLING BETWEEN US Chapter One: The Collision MIRA Some mornings feel like they were never meant to go right. Today was one of them. I was running late, again. The sky overhead was the color of an unfinished painting—gray, heavy with the promise of rain. The streets of the city pulsed with their usual morning chaos: honking taxis, hurried footsteps, the scent of fresh bread mixed with the sharp aroma of burnt coffee. My shift at the bookstore started in exactly three minutes, and I was still five blocks away, practically sprinting down the sidewalk. One hand clutched my sketchbook to my chest, the other wrapped around a disposable coffee cup—my first and only hope for surviving the day. Then it happened. One second, I was weaving through the crowd. The next, my body collided with something solid—no, someone solid. Hot liquid spilled over my coat, seeping through the fabric. My fingers lost their grip on the coffee cup, and it tumbled onto the pavement with a hollow splatter. My sketchbook flew from my grasp, pages fluttering loose like wounded birds. “s**t,” a deep voice muttered. I stumbled backward, my pulse hammering in my ears. In front of me stood a man. No—a force. Tall, broad shoulders, dressed in a sleek charcoal-gray suit. Dark hair, sharp jawline, lips pressed in a firm line of mild annoyance. His piercing eyes—blue, or maybe gray—locked onto mine. I was too flustered to react at first. His gaze dropped to my coat, now stained with coffee. Then, without hesitation, he bent down and picked up my sketchbook from the sidewalk. My stomach dropped. I reached for it, but it was too late. His fingers flipped through the pages. I felt exposed. The sketches inside were private—intimate, raw. Drawings of faceless lovers tangled in desperate embraces. A woman curled up in sorrow. A man standing in the rain, waiting for something, someone. His eyes flicked back to mine. “These are…” His voice was unreadable. “Something.” I clenched my jaw. “Give that back.” For a second, I thought he might refuse. But after a beat of silence, he shut the book and handed it to me. “You be more careful,” he said, the faintest smirk on his lips. My temper flared. “You ran into me.” He raised an eyebrow. “Debatable.” And just like that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the flood of morning commuters. I stood there, breathless, confused, and a little bit furious. I didn’t know his name. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. I was wrong