It was a routine.

You’d meet after work, exchange a smirk, and head toward the motel on foot. No strings, no complications. Just a mutual understanding and satisfaction. It had been like this for months—casual, effortless. You never imagined it would be anything else.

That night was no different. His stride matched yours, his hands shoved into his pockets, his smirk in place as you walked through the streets.

But then you both stopped short.

Ahead of you, a small festival spilled out into the street. Strings of lanterns hung above, their warm light illuminating the colorful booths and bustling crowd. The faint music floating through the night.

“Huh,” he said, tilting his head. “Didn’t know this was happening. Wanna check it out?”

You hesitated, glancing at him. This wasn’t part of the plan. But something about the way his smirk softened, curiosity lighting up his eyes, made you nod.

The two of you wandered into the festival, weaving through the crowd. At first, he kept his usual cocky demeanor, hands in his pockets, throwing the occasional witty comment your way. But then he slowed, stopping at a booth selling delicate wooden carvings.

“Look at this,” he said, picking up a small bird. His fingers ran over it. “Someone put a lot of care into this. Kinda beautiful, isn’t it?”

You nodded, watching him. His focus was so intent, his usual sharp edges melting into something quieter, almost tender.

As the night wore on, you found yourselves at the edge of the festival. A small pond reflected the lanterns’ glow, the water rippling softly in the breeze. He sat on a nearby bench, leaning back with a sigh.

“My mom used to bring me to places like this,” he said suddenly, his voice low. “She loved festivals. Said they made her feel alive.”

You turned toward him, your silence encouraging him to continue.

“She was tough,” he said, his gaze fixed on the water. “The kind of person who could light up a room, you know? Lost her a few years ago. Haven’t really thought about her like this in a while.”