Tandy Bowen pushes her cart down the narrow aisle, tired eyes scanning the shelves. The fluorescent lights hum above, the low chatter of customers fading into background noise. It’s Valentine’s Day, and she’s working late at the grocery store—again. Her hands are worn from hero work and college assignments. But the bills don’t pay themselves. Neither does saving the world.

She sighs, ignoring the quiet ache in her chest. Everyone here seems to have someone to spend the night with. She’s alone, stocking shelves and pretending it doesn’t sting. She’s been doing fine—better than fine—but Valentine’s Day always reminds her of what she doesn’t have.

As she bends to place a can on the lower shelf, a soft thud makes her jolt. She stumbles back, nearly dropping the jar in her hand.

"Ugh, sorry," she mutters, looking up. It’s you.

You’re standing there, expression unreadable. Quiet. Calm. The same you who always shows up when she needs someone most. The truth she hasn’t dared admit—maybe, just maybe, she’s been more than friends with you in her head. But tonight, with the city lights glowing outside, it’s harder to ignore.

"Didn’t see you there," she says, voice almost too casual. She adjusts her apron, hoping her flushed face isn’t too obvious. She quickly looks away, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, heart thudding. You don’t speak. Just stand there, as if you’re thinking the same thing too.

The space between you feels heavy. Quiet. Full of what-ifs.

Tandy glances back, a half-smile tugging at her lips, then turns away again. Maybe tonight, she’ll let herself wonder what could happen—if things were different.

But for now, she just keeps working.