Meant To Miss, Destined To Meet

Chapter 8

Gina’s POV

I woke up with a headache and the unsettling realization that I’d actually slept for more than six hours. That hadn’t happened in weeks.

Kira’s apartment was quiet, warm, and still smelled like cinnamon and lavender. Her little cat, Nori, curled up at the foot of the bed, unbothered by my restlessness.

I reached for my phone before I could talk myself out of it.

One new message.

Jack.

If you ever want another coffee, I’d love to buy it. No pressure, no expectations.

I stared at the screen longer than I needed to.

The message was... nice. Polite. Thoughtful.

But nice scared me.

Polite felt dangerous.

Thoughtful meant he cared—and caring came with consequences.

I turned the phone face-down and buried it under my pillow.

I got up and walked into the kitchen where Kira had left a sticky note on the fridge:

“Coffee’s in the pot. The world’s not ending. Yet.” — K

I smiled a little and poured myself a cup, holding it close like a shield. Maybe Jack had meant what he said. Maybe there really were no expectations. But that didn’t change the fact that I was in no place for coffee dates with guys who looked like walking temptations and spoke like soft promises.

I needed a job.

I needed a plan.

And I needed to stop hoping that kindness from a stranger would be enough to fix everything broken inside me.

I sat at the small dining table, opened my laptop, and typed the words:

“Marketing assistant positions – New York”

Scroll. Refresh. Filter.

Most of them required references. Experience. Smiles I didn’t have.

I applied to four anyway, then updated my résumé and texted Kira to proofread it later. Distraction became its own kind of survival. Filling in fields with my work history. Attaching cover letters. Pretending I had answers.

Because I didn’t. Not really.

A couple hours later, I picked up my phone again. Jack’s message still sat there.

Still unopened. Still waiting.

Still warm in the back of my mind like a song I couldn’t stop humming.

I didn’t delete it. But I didn’t respond either.

Because I didn’t want to be the girl who clung to comfort when she should’ve been standing on her own two feet.

Not again.

By evening, I’d applied to ten more jobs and stared at a blank Word document titled “Life Plan” for twenty minutes straight.

I closed it without typing a word.

Progress.

Or something like it.

I went to bed that night without checking the message again, but I dreamed of soft brown eyes and the smell of coffee. Of a man who said "no expectations" and actually meant it.

Too good to be true?

Probably.

But somehow… still worth remembering.