Found in the city
437 Words
Kobe stepped off the bus into a city that hummed like a living thing—cars honking, steam rising from grates, people moving with urgency in every direction.
He clutched the strap of his bag, the notebook tucked safely inside. The cold bit at his cheeks, but he didn’t care.
He was here.
For her.
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Marshel didn’t know he was coming. Not really. She had floated the idea in the letter—What would you say to one more beginning?—but hadn’t expected an answer so soon. Not like this.
When her roommate buzzed the apartment and said, “There’s a guy down here with a sketchpad and a stupidly hopeful look on his face,” she dropped her tea.
She ran barefoot down the stairs.
And there he was.
Smiling, breath visible in the winter air, eyes fixed on her like nothing had changed—and yet everything had.
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The reunion wasn’t a movie scene.
No running. No dramatic music. Just a tight hug, cold fingers intertwined, and the kind of quiet that only comes when hearts already understand each other.
“You didn’t write back,” she whispered into his coat.
“I figured I’d answer in person.”
---
The weekend unfolded in stolen hours. He came with no agenda—just curiosity, and her.
She showed him the park bench where she ate lunch on sunny days. The bodega that got her coffee order wrong but smiled every time. The office window where she worked late and looked out at a skyline full of maybes.
He showed her his latest sketches—cityscapes, but softer, dreamier. “I’ve been imagining this place through you for months,” he said.
They sat at the window of a café that smelled like cinnamon, watching people pass.
“This city’s still a little too fast for me,” Kobe admitted.
Marshel smiled. “It’s okay. I’ve learned to slow it down. At least in the parts that matter.”
He reached across the table. “So… what do we do now?”
She didn’t rush her answer.
“We build something,” she said. “It doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s version of love. We just make it ours.”
He nodded. “One page at a time.”
---
That night, they lay side by side on her futon, city lights blinking through the blinds. She rested her head on his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair.
No more countdowns. No more goodbyes hanging in the air.
Just breath. And warmth. And maybe, finally… beginning.
TO BE CONTINUED...
- Writer
