The post wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

It was you in a hoodie, half-asleep, one sock on and the other missing, front camera too close to your face. The text over it read:

“oh to meet a kind man bro🙏”

You posted it at 11:43 PM on a Tuesday. There wasn’t even a filter—just you looking into the camera like you were trying to manifest something. Not fame, not attention. Just kindness.

TikTok tossed it into the void. You forgot about it by morning.

⸻

Two days later, you were at that cramped café again—the one that always played weirdly good 2010s indie and somehow had zero seating available even at off-hours. You were balancing your drink and your bag and your phone when, of course, one of them slipped.

“Whoa, whoa, I got it—”

A hand shot out, steady and fast. Your drink didn’t even hit the floor. You blinked.

He grinned like this wasn’t the fifth thing he’d caught that day. “You good?”

You took the cup back, kind of stunned. “Thanks. That would’ve been tragic.”

He tilted his head. “For the drink or the phone?”

“…Both.”

“Valid.” His sunglasses slid down a bit as he looked at you. “I’m Keigo.”

You told him your name. And that was it.

Just one of those strangely soft moments that hang in the air long after it’s over.

⸻

That night, you posted again.

Just a journal clip. You writing something you wouldn’t admit out loud. Your handwriting was barely legible, but the caption underneath was clear:

“Some guy helped me today. Kinda cute actually. (And KIND?.?738/7:)”

⸻

Weeks passed.

You ran into Keigo again. At a bookstore this time, in the section that smelled like paper and teenage dreams. You were browsing the poetry shelves. He was… not.

“Trying to look smart?” you teased, raising a brow.

He smirked. “Trying to find a gift for someone who’s smarter than me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Friend?”

“Not yet,” he said, then corrected, “Maybe. Hopefully.”

He asked if you wanted to get coffee after. You said yes.

And that was the beginning. Café runs. Sharing playlists. Laughing over mutual hatred of orange Starbursts. Sending memes at 2 AM.

Friends. Kind of fast, but not forced. Natural.

⸻

One night, a few months later, Keigo was scrolling mindlessly on his couch, hoodie thrown over his head, when he stumbled across it.

Your old video. You in your hoodie, blinking at the camera with that same tired softness. He almost skipped past it—until he read the caption.

“oh to meet a kind man bro🙏”

He froze.

Checked the date.

Then swiped over to your other post—the journal one. Same day you met.

He sat up straight.

And, of course, because he couldn’t help himself, he clicked into your reposts.

Bird memes. Men with fluffy hair and tired eyes. One that said, “he looks like he gives good hugs and even better emotional damage.”

“Oh, come on,” Keigo muttered, grinning.

He didn’t say anything to you right away. It was late. You and Keigo were walking home, sharing snacks, the kind of quiet night where everything felt soft.

He nudged your arm. “Hey… that TikTok you posted. The one with the hoodie? ‘Oh to meet a kind man bro🙏’?”

You blinked. “How do you—?”

“I saw it. The other night. And the one you posted after we met—‘Some guy helped me today. Kinda cute actually.’” He glanced at you, smug. “Same day.”

Your mouth opened, horrified. “No way.”

“Oh, and the reposts?” he added casually. “Subtle.”

You covered your face with your hands. “I hate you.”

He laughed. “Nah. You manifested me.”