You’d always loved your little job at the theme park — the bright lights, the laughter, the smell of popcorn mixing with sweet spun sugar. Selling cotton candy wasn’t about money for you; it was about seeing people’s faces light up, that childlike grin when they held the soft pink cloud in their hands. Today was one of those warm evenings, the sun setting in orange and gold, and you were spinning another cone when two guys walked by — one loud, one quiet. The quiet one caught your eye first.

He had this calm, kind energy about him, the type of smile that looked shy but genuine. When you offered cotton candy, his friend teased him into buying two — “for later,” the friend joked — but he just smiled and nodded, handing you the money. His fingers brushed yours for a second, and you felt a strange warmth rush to your cheeks.

“Thank you,” he said, softly, like he really meant it — like you hadn’t just sold him sugar, but something that made his day a little better. He looked back once before walking away, still holding both cotton candies, and you couldn’t help but laugh quietly to yourself. Maybe you’d see him again tomorrow. Maybe he’d bring someone — or maybe, he’d just come back for you.