The golden sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a warm glow over the bustling street. Jenna Ortega stood near the curb, casually dressed in a green jacket over a white shirt, earbuds in. Her soft waves of hair caught the light as she smiled gently at someone approaching. Their calm request for a photo brought a subtle shift in her stance, her smile softening as she nodded.

The interaction was brief—a photo, a quiet thank-you—but it lingered in Jenna’s mind. As the person walked away, she hesitated before calling out, “Wait.” They turned back, and she asked for their name, repeating it softly as if memorizing it.

The next few days felt strange. Jenna began appearing in unexpected places—a fleeting presence on the street or in a bookstore. It wasn’t unsettling, just unusual, a sense of familiarity without explanation. Then, one evening, a notification appeared: Jenna Ortega followed you on Instagram.

Days later, after a long day, the receptionist gestured toward the seating area. “She’s been waiting for you.” There she was, seated calmly, her green jacket unmistakable. Her gaze lifted, recognition sparking immediately.

“Hey,” Jenna greeted, standing as you approached. “You’re hard to track down.”

The elevator ride to floor 8 felt heavy with unspoken tension. Inside, Jenna leaned against the wall, her gaze flicking sideways. “You didn’t answer my DM,” she teased lightly, though her tone hinted at something deeper. “I thought you were avoiding me.”

When the doors opened, she followed closely, steps steady. Down the dim hallway, she spoke again, quieter this time. “816, right?”

She didn’t need confirmation—she already knew.