Second Collision
1322 Words
Ro hadn’t planned to return to the bookstore.
But there she was—three days later—staring at the same cracked tile near the poetry shelf, her fingers grazing spines she’d read too many times. She wasn’t looking for a book.
She was hoping for a coincidence. It wasn't very comfortable. Reckless. Almost romantic. And yet, not foolish enough to stop.
The sketch still lived in her bag. She kept it folded behind a receipt like proof of something she wasn’t sure had ever really belonged to her. She wasn’t trying to be found. Not really. But she couldn’t bring herself to stop looking, either.
She left the bookstore empty-handed.
But the next morning, fate didn’t wait for her.
It happened in the most mundane place imaginable.
Tuesday. 8:42 a.m.
The elevator at Mercy General Medical Center was jammed—again—and Ro had to take the back stairwell to get to the Radiology.
She rounded the second-floor landing and nearly collided with a man holding a rolled-up blueprint.
“Sorry—” “No, my fault—”
The voice. The face. Ro froze mid-step.
Elias.
Up close, his features were sharper than she remembered—like time had chiseled them in her memory, but the real thing had weight. Texture. He wore a dark button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair messier than it had been onstage.
His eyes widened. Recognition sparked, then flickered.
She saw it. He remembered. But he said nothing.
Ro crossed her arms. “So… you redesign hospitals and read poetry now?”
His brow lifted slightly. “Depends on the day. Some days I crash into ghosts.”
She smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Nice to know you’ve upgraded from sketching strangers and vanishing.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His eyes dropped for half a second.
“About that—” he started.
“Don’t,” she cut in, sharp and fast. “Don’t give me a reason." I liked it better when we left the mystery alone.”
A silence hung between them. Not hostile. Just… unfinished.
He took a breath. “I didn’t know how to find you.” Ro tilted her head. “You could’ve tried asking.”
“I didn’t think I had the right.” She blinked. That was not the answer she expected.
Their eyes locked.
Something broke and was rebuilt in that second. A tension pulled tight, not from anger, but restraint.
He stepped back, giving her space. Always polite. Always just far enough away not to cause alarm. That almost made it worse.
“I’m working on a redesign for your ER wing,” he said, at a voice level. We’re scheduled to do walkthroughs this week. Didn’t expect… “To see me?”
“To see you again and not know what the hell I’m supposed to do about it.”
Ro blinked. “Try hello. That usually works.”
“Hello,” he said quietly. She almost smiled. Almost.
Later that day, they met again—professionally, this time.
The hospital had scheduled a walkthrough of the new expansion project, and Elias stood near the floor plans with a laser pointer and a team of developers in stiff suits.
Ro kept her arms crossed. Lila, who tagged along out of nosy curiosity, whispered, “So that’s him?”
Ro said nothing.
Lila nodded to herself. “Okay, Architect Storm Boy looks exactly as you described. Dangerous in a ‘write sad songs about me’ kind of way.”
“Shut up.”
But her lips curved slightly.
Elias noticed. Even mid-presentation, his eyes flicked to her. Once. Twice. But he didn’t break stride.
He was different in work mode. Confident. Direct. Charismatic in the way men usually weren’t unless they’d been hurt before.
Ro wondered what had bent him.
After the walkthrough, they crossed paths in the hallway again.
“I owe you lunch,” he said gently.
“You owe me an explanation,” she replied.
He nodded. “Both, then.”
They met that Saturday at a small café on the Lower East Side. Neutral ground. She arrived first, ordered tea, and sat at a window. The rain had returned lightly this time, romantic instead of aggressive.
He was five minutes late, holding a sketchpad like always.
Ro raised an eyebrow. “Is that how you flirt? Sketch women in churches and then show up to date with your weapons?”
“It’s not a date.”
“Good. I’m allergic to unmet expectations.”
He laughed softly, under his breath, and took the seat across from her.
For a moment, neither said anything.
Then he asked: “Why didn’t you say anything that morning?”
She blinked. “You mean after you vanished without a word?” “I left a drawing.”
Ro scoffed. “You left a drawing, and a cryptic two-word note like some moody poet from the 1800s.”
“I didn’t think I’d see you again.” “Is that supposed to make it better?” “No,” he admitted. “It’s just the truth.”
They sat with it. The way people do when truths are heavier than apologies.
He finally spoke again. “My name’s Elias.” She stared at him. “I know.”
“Didn’t think you did.” “I met your son.”
That made him sit straighter. “You did?”
“Construction site injury. He’s fine. A few stitches. Said you designed the building.”
Relief flashed in his eyes. Then something else. Sadness?
“He’s not my son,” Elias said quietly. He’s my nephew. My brother’s kid. But… yeah. I’ve helped raise him. His mom—my sister-in-law—died last year. "Chris couldn’t handle it alone.
Ro softened slightly. “I’m sorry.” “Thanks.” A beat.
She looked at him differently now. Not softer. Just deeper.
“So… what now?” she asked.
Elias traced the rim of his cup. “Now I tell you the truth.”
She arched her brow.
“I didn’t mean to leave that morning. I stayed until the sun came up. You looked peaceful, and I didn’t want to wake you. I was scared that if you saw me again, you’d look at me differently.”
“Why?”
“Because I fall too fast. And I’m always the one left behind.”
Ro exhaled slowly.
He continued, “But the truth is, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Every day. Every street. Every train car. I will keep looking for you.”
She looked at him. Really looked.
“I was angry,” she said softly. “But not because you left." Because I wanted you to stay, and I hate that about myself. I hate how easy it felt. How right.”
“That wasn’t just you.”
They sat in the quiet between words.
Then Ro said the thing neither of them had dared until now.
“Maybe we do this backwards.”
He frowned slightly. “Backwards?”
“We already know each other’s grief. Our fears. The stuff most couples learn in five years. Maybe now we can go back and ask for the names. My favourite songs. The worst habits.”
Elias smiled. “Okay. Then tell me something small. First favourite movie.”
“Amélie,” she replied instantly. “Yours?”
“Rear Window.”
“Of course,” she said, smirking. “You look like a man who studies strangers through glass.”
He leaned forward slightly, matching her smirk. “Only when they make it hard to forget them.”
When they left the café, the rain had stopped.
Elias walked her to the subway, hands in his coat pockets.
They didn’t hold hands. Not yet. But the silence between them was different now.
Not unfinished. Just beginning.
- Writer
