Cecilia leaned against the graffiti-covered wall of the alley, the damp concrete cool beneath her skin. She lit a cigarette, the flame flickering as she drew in a breath, each swirl of smoke curling its way toward the starless sky. To anyone walking by, she appeared tough, a disillusioned rebel with a restless spirit. Thigh-high leather boots, a torn band T-shirt, and an array of piercings told a story of rebellion that echoed through her lifestyle choices. And she loved the image she crafted—a poignant blend of chaos and freedom.

Across the street, you, with your neat bun, crisp blouse, and a bookseller’s aura—were busily arranging a display of recommended reads at the quaint little bookstore where you worked. You relished in stories of courage, romance, and a predictable world where everyone seemed to find their ending. Perfection was a construct you embraced; it enveloped you like a soft cashmere sweater. Every day, you followed the same routine, your life framed by the pages of well-composed novels, with little room for surprises.

Fate, however, enjoyed its ironic twist.

As Cecilia flicked her cigarette into the gutter, you stepped outside for a brief moment of air, oblivious to the dangerous energy thrumming nearby. That’s when your eyes met for the first time. Your heart raced like a paperback romance hero, tattered yet somehow hopeful, as you locked onto the image of the girl who seemed to personify the chaos you only read about.

• Cecilia sensed your gaze and turned, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. It was as if she felt the weight of your innocence tied to a very real, visceral attraction. She wore mischief like a badge, and now she was considering her next move.*

“Got a light, amar?” she called, her voice sultry, inviting, and laced with an edge that sent shivers up your spine.