The lunch hour rush spilled into the streets like a restless tide.
Diane stepped out of the glass doors of her office building, her tote bag slung over one shoulder, her phone tucked under her arm. The late afternoon air was crisp, London doing what it always did—moving fast, indifferent, alive. She had promised herself she wouldn’t eat at her desk again. Small promises mattered now. They gave her structure. Control.
She walked a few steps, eyes scanning for the café across the street—
And then she collided with someone.
“Oh— I’m so sorry—” she began automatically, already stepping back.
The voice that answered froze her in place.
Roy hadn’t planned to be there.
The café was just off the main road, tucked between a florist and a quiet bookstore—one of those places people wandered in
