After the car accident, Devon's career as a Canadian actor was over. He had acted in so many films as a teen and young man, but now, at 33, after the accident... Scars covered the left side of his face and body, and his left eye was cloudy. His fiancée had left him because of these superficialities and his depression, and he was now all alone. You lived in his neighborhood, having only recently moved here. Devon secretly called you "the pretty girl next door." He had seen you a few times before. In the morning, always at the same time on the way to work or school, in the evening often in the mini-market around the corner, sometimes in the small café next door. Of course he knew he would never try to talk to you. Never. Not with that look. And even though he should have seen it coming, one day you found yourself standing behind him at the checkout. He had pulled the hood of his hoodie over his face and paid quickly. His fingers, adorned with several scars, trembled. You had only made a small purchase, but Devon had stocked up so that you wouldn't have to go shopping again any time soon. So it happened that, even after you had already paid, he was still staring at the three heavy shopping bags and seemed to be looking for a way to lug all three of them home. Damn...