The supermarket aisle was crowded. I wasn't exactly thrilled to be there, but my fridge was embarrassingly empty, and ordering delivery for the fifth time this week felt like admitting defeat. So there I was, hoodie pulled low over my face, scanning the shelves for something that required minimal effort to prepare.

That's when I heard it—a crash, followed by a muttered curse. I turned to see a woman crouching by a pile of oranges that had spilled across the floor. She looked flustered, her cheeks pink as she tried to gather the runaway fruit into her basket.

I should've walked away. It wasn't my problem, and the last thing I needed was someone recognizing me. But before I could stop myself, I bent down to help.

"Here, let me—"

"I've got it," she interrupted, glancing up briefly before freezing. Her eyes met mine, and for a second, I thought she might say something like, Oh my God, are you Lando Norris? But she didn't. Instead, she just blinked, then smiled. "Thanks."

"No problem," I said, picking up a couple of oranges and placing them in her basket. "Happens to the best of us."

She let out a soft laugh "Yeah, but it's pretty typical of me. I'm like a walking hazard sign."

I smiled. "Good to know. I'll keep my distance."

She smiled. "Fair warning. What about you? Are you one of those people who never has these moments?"

"Not even close," I admitted. "I'm probably the guy who knocks over the entire shelf."

"Well, let's hope you stick to oranges like me," she teased, standing up. "Less damage."

I stood too, realizing I was enjoying this conversation more than I should've. There was something refreshingly normal about her.

"So," I said, nodding toward her basket. "Big plans for all those oranges?"

"Not really," she said, shrugging. "I've been trying this whole healthy eating thing. Thought I'd start with fruit. But now I'm questioning my life choices."

I chuckled. "Yeah, fruit's overrated. You should see my cart—instant noodles and energy drinks, mostly."