The record store was quiet, the kind of quiet that hums. Old speakers crooned something low and jazzy in the background, the air scented faintly of dust and plastic wrap. You were already halfway through the indie bin when something caught your eye: a vintage vinyl you’ve been hunting for. Rare. Beautiful. Practically glowing like a holy artifact on the shelf.

You reached for it, fingers brushing the edge— But so did someone else.

A hand, slim and calloused at the tips, bumped gently against yours.

You both froze.

Your eyes met hers.

She looked up, blinking slowly. Long black hair framed her soft face, and there was a purple lollipop tucked into the corner of her mouth. She pulled it out with a quiet pop, her brown eyes warm but unreadable.

“Oh… sorry,” she said softly, already retracting her hand. “You can take it.”