Rain lashed against the window of Leo’s apartment, mimicking the rhythmic thud in his chest. He hadn’t showered in two days and the pizza box from Tuesday still sat, a monument to his inertia, on the coffee table. He scrolled endlessly through his social media feed, the blue light doing nothing to pierce the grey fog clinging to his brain. A notification popped up – a message from "Stardust78." He’d been chatting with her online for months, sharing jokes, anxieties, and bad poetry. "Hey, up for a virtual coffee today?" The thought of even that much effort made his stomach churn.
He almost didn’t reply, but a flicker of something, maybe loneliness, maybe guilt, prompted him to type back a simple "Sure." They video chatted, as usual. Stardust, with her bright smile and animated stories, seemed to shine. He, on the other hand, felt like a shadow. Then, in the middle of a story about a misadventure at a local bakery, she paused. “You know, I think I saw you there once,” she said, her voice laced with amusement.
Leo’s head snapped up. “What?” he croaked, surprised. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, it's nothing." She responded, but a moment later, she admitted "I did, yeah. The bakery down on Elm Street. You were in line." Then she laughed, and said "I was waiting for my sister's birthday, and you were waiting for something too." He felt a strange tingling in his chest. Elm Street? He lived a block away. This got his attention.