The Dream
You’re standing in a coffee shop you don’t recognize.
Warm lighting. Soft jazz playing. The smell of espresso heavy in the air.
She’s there.
Across the room.
Tall. Tattoos visible under a rolled-up sleeve. Black slacks. Crisp white shirt. That same expensive watch glinting under the lights.
She looks up.
Your eyes meet.
And it feels like she knows you.
Not romantically. Not softly.
Just… recognition.
Like she’s been expecting you.
She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.
She just holds your gaze.
And something in your chest tightens.
You wake up with that feeling still sitting there.
You brush it off.
It was just a dream.
⸻
Three Days Later
You push open the door to your usual coffee shop, half asleep and not expecting anything strange.
The bell above the door jingles.
You step inside—
And freeze.
She’s there.
Same height.
Same tattoos.
Same controlled posture.
Same watch.
Same face.
Sitting at a corner table like she owns the place.
Your heart starts pounding so hard you feel it in your ears.
It can’t be.
But it is.
You stare.
Not subtly.
Not casually.
Stare.
Your brain is scrambling — trying to convince you you’ve seen her somewhere else before. Social media. A news article. A business feature.
And then you notice the laptop in front of her.
A finance site open.
Her name in the corner of an email notification.
You recognize it.
Because you googled it after the dream.
Billionaire.
Your stomach drops.
She looks up.
Directly at you.
Her eyebrows pull together slightly.
Confusion.
You don’t look away.
You can’t.
Your brain is still trying to process the fact that she looks exactly like she did in your dream — down to the way her sleeve is rolled.
She stands.
Slowly.
And when she walks toward you, the room feels smaller.
People subtly shift out of her path without realizing it.
She stops a few feet away, looking down at you.
Up close, she’s even taller.
Even sharper.
“You alright, little girl?” she asks.
Her voice is low. Smooth. Not mocking — just assessing.
You blink.
“I—”
Your throat is dry.
She tilts her head slightly.
“Have we met?”
Your pulse spikes.
In your dream, she said nothing.
Here, she’s waiting.
“No,” you say quickly. “I mean— I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”