COINCIDENCE?
843 Words
CHAPTER 1
Zrrrrrrrrrrrrrringggggggg!
A pale, well-manicured hand shot out from under the blanket and slapped the alarm clock like it had personally offended her ancestors.
Silence.
“Good,” Ophelia muttered, face still buried in the pillow. “Die.”
She lay there for exactly three seconds before groaning and rubbing her eyes. It was already shaping up to be one of those days—the kind where the universe felt just a little too awake and she felt… not.
She yawned, wide and unashamed. When she finally opened her eyes, gray met the ceiling, framed by lashes so thick she’d once been asked if they were fake. They weren’t. She’d checked. Repeatedly. Life had decided to be generous in very specific, inconvenient ways.
She rolled out of bed, hair falling in a glossy black curtain down her back, and shuffled toward the bathroom like a zombie with goals.
At 175 cm tall, Ophelia looked like she should be strutting down a runway somewhere, not brushing her teeth with one eye closed and toothpaste on her chin. But life was cruel like that. She did everything on autopilot—shower, brush, quick sandwich, hair twisted into a low bun. No mirrors lingered on. Looking too closely before sunrise felt illegal.
The walk to the train station took ten minutes. She liked that. Predictable. Manageable. She bought her ticket and slipped onto the train, standing stiffly even though there were seats. Sitting felt like a trap. She was always early. Always rushing. Even with a full hour before work, her brain refused to relax.
Punctuality and honesty weren’t just cute traits; they were coping mechanisms.
Ophelia hadn’t always been like this. But being abandoned at three years old and growing up in an orphanage on the edge of town had a way of rewiring your priorities. No parents. No relatives. Just rules, schedules, and the quiet understanding that no one was coming to save you.
At sixteen, she’d been told she was “old enough to fend for herself.” Translation: Good luck, kid. She left with a suitcase and zero emotional closure. Thankfully, one of the staff had helped her land a job at a small bar. She’d been there ever since—two and a half years and counting.
At nineteen, her life plan was simple: work hard, save money, go to college. No chaos. No fairy tales. Definitely no surprises.
Which was probably why the universe chose that morning to be funny.
She stepped out of the subway and had barely taken ten steps when a shrill voice sliced through the air.
“Help! Help! Please, he has my bag!”
Ophelia looked up just in time to see a boy—maybe fifteen, maybe trouble—sprinting straight toward her, clutching a purse like his life depended on it. A middle-aged woman staggered after him, panicked and yelling.
He was aiming for the subway entrance. Her subway entrance.
Ophelia sighed internally. Of course he is.
She didn’t think. She just stuck her leg out.
Thud.
“Aaarrgh!” The boy crashed to the ground in a mess of limbs and bad decisions. He tried to scramble up, but two police officers appeared like they’d been waiting for this exact cue.
They grabbed the bag. Click. Handcuffs.
One of the officers turned to Ophelia. “Quick thinking. Thanks for stepping in.”
She shrugged. “He was going to trip eventually. I just helped.”
The boy shot her a glare sharp enough to cut glass as they hauled him away. The kind that promised revenge, bad karma, and maybe a dramatic comeback. Ophelia ignored it. She’d survived worse stares in the orphanage cafeteria.
The woman hurried over, breathless and emotional, and before Ophelia could brace herself, she was pulled into a hug.
“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” the woman gushed. “It’s so rare these days—people usually just take videos instead of helping. You’re wonderful. Truly wonderful.”
Ophelia stood there stiffly, arms half-raised like she wasn’t sure whether hugging back was allowed.
“And you know,” the woman continued brightly, “I should introduce you to my grandson. You’d make such a lovely couple.”
Ma’am, I just tackled a criminal before breakfast, Ophelia thought. I’m not emotionally available for matchmaking.
Still, she smiled politely as a sleek business card was pressed into her palm.
“Call me if you ever need anything. Anything at all. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Ophelia,” she replied. “And really, it wasn’t a big deal. I just… did what made sense.”
She kept the card anyway. Mostly because refusing it felt rude. Also because the woman looked like she could buy the building they were standing next to without blinking.
After a few more thank-yous, they parted ways.
Ophelia tucked the card into her bag and continued down the street, heading back into her routine—her normal, predictable life.
Which, apparently, had just developed a habit of getting slightly more complicated.
- Writer
