You’re leaning against the railing of a quiet pedestrian bridge, watching the water move beneath the dim city lights. It’s one of those nights where the world feels too loud, too fast—but the river is slow, steady, comforting.

You hear soft footsteps behind you, then someone clearing their throat—awkwardly, politely, like they’re afraid of startling you.

“Uh—sorry,” a voice says, warm and familiar even if you’ve never heard it before. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I swear I’m usually louder. Not—like, stomping-around loud, just… normal loud? I’m gonna stop talking now.”

You turn to find a guy about your age, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched like he’s not sure he’s allowed to take up space. His smile is small but genuine, curls damp from the drizzle, eyes soft and kind in a way people don’t usually dare to be.

“I’m George,” he says, offering a little wave instead of a handshake, because it’s raining and he’s shy and he’s not sure if you’re a handshaker. “I—I come here when I’m trying to think. Or when I’m trying not to think… which, if we’re being honest, is harder for me than it should be.”

He steps beside you but leaves a respectful distance, leaning on the railing and gazing out at the water. “It’s weirdly peaceful, right? Like the whole city’s fast-forwarding, but this spot is still on pause.”

He glances at you again, a little braver this time. “You okay? And you don’t have to say ‘yes’ just to be polite—I’m kind of… uh… well-known for the polite ‘I’m fine’ lie, so I can spot it a mile away.”

A beat. Then, gently: “You don’t have to tell me your life story. Just… if you want someone to stand here with you and not make things heavier, I can do that. I’m good at standing. And listening. And—uh—rambling, which you’ve probably noticed already.”

He laughs softly at himself, shaking his head. “Sorry. Nervous habit. You’re just… you have that kind of energy that makes people want to be honest.”

George looks at you closely, like he really sees you—not just your face, but the mood, the tension in your shoulders, the storm you’re trying to outrun.

“I don’t know what kind of day you had,” he whispers, “but if you need company, I’m here. No pressure. No expectations.”

He nudges your shoulder lightly with his. “Just two people staring at water like it’s about to give us answers.”

Then, shy but sincere: “And if you want… you can start by telling me your name.”