The rain fell like it had something to prove.
New York City pulsed with its usual chaos, but under the downpour, the noise dulled into a watery blur. Zara James huddled beneath the crumbling awning of a forgotten jazz bar on 48th Street, her worn hoodie soaked through and her sneakers squelching with each step she didn't take.
Her shift at the diner had ended three hours ago, but the trains were delayed again, and she couldn't afford a cab. Not tonight. Not with her tips barely covering the week's groceries.
She hugged her arms around herself, shivering, until the gleam of golden lights caught her eye. Across the street, through sheets of rain, the Grand Luxor Hotel stood tall and dry-polished marble, doormen in tailored suits, and a valet who probably made more than she did in a month.
Zara scoffed, but something pulled her toward it. The promise of warmth? Curiosity? Or maybe just the need to feel, for one second, like the world hadn't completely left her behind.
She stepped into the covered entrance, careful not to be noticed. The grand lobby glowed like a dream-crystal chandeliers overhead, floors that reflected her blurry silhouette, and the quiet hush of wealth that didn't need to prove itself.
That's when she saw him.
Leaning against the bar was a man in a dark charcoal suit, the lapels dusted with raindrops like he'd just come in too. He wasn't looking at anything in particular-just nursing a drink, his fingers toying with the rim of a glass half-full of something expensive.
His eyes flicked to hers.
Sharp. Curious. Exhausted.
Zara looked away.
She should leave. This wasn't her world. She didn't belong. But her legs didn't move, not until the man lifted his glass in a quiet toast and gestured to the empty stool beside him.
"Cold night," he said.
She hesitated. Then sat.
"You look like you're miles away," she replied.
A small smirk touched his lips. "I'm always miles away."
Silence settled between them, not uncomfortable but charged. The kind that hums with questions no one wants to ask.
"No name?" he asked, swirling his drink.
Zara shrugged. "Let's not ruin it."
The man nodded, understanding. "One night, no questions?"
"Exactly."
He ordered her a drink-ginger and bourbon, warm and burning-and they talked about everything but themselves. Books. Rain. The color of the sky when it turns navy just before dawn.
She laughed more than she had in weeks. He listened like no one ever had.
When she finally stood to leave, soaked hoodie in hand, he touched her wrist gently.
"Will I ever see you again?"
Zara looked at him, memorized his eyes, and said the only thing that made sense.
"Maybe. If the sky wants us to."
Then she stepped back into the rain and vanished into the city.
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