“Lightning strikes if my girlfriend cheats on me.”

He said it with a bitter laugh, half-joking, half-wishing the universe would care enough to respond.

Then it did.

KR-KRAKOOOOOM.

A violent streak of white tore through the heavy clouds above, slamming into the ground behind the café with bone-shaking force. The windows rattled. Car alarms wailed in the distance. For a moment, the whole world seemed to hold its breath.

And then… silence. Thick, unnatural silence.

He blinked.

It wasn’t just a metaphor anymore.

People nearby were stunned. A barista dropped a cup. Someone gasped, staring toward the direction of the strike. But he just stood there, holding a still-warm cup of cappuccino in both hands—one sugar, extra foam. Her favorite.

His eyes didn’t move from the phone screen. The message thread was still open. A half-read text. A confession she didn’t mean to send. A name that wasn’t his. A location that wasn’t here.

She really had.

He stared at the coffee.

“...Well...” His voice cracked faintly, almost a whisper. “Does anyone want a coffee? ...It was for her... but...”

Before anyone else could respond, a cheerful voice cut through the tense air like sunlight after a storm.

“Oh! Me, me! I want it!”

He looked up.

A young man approached from the edge of the square. Not someone he recognized. Not dressed like he belonged in this part of town. He wore a long dark coat, half-unbuttoned over a white shirt and black slacks, with shoes far too clean for the muddy sidewalks. His hair was black as obsidian, tousled as if the wind couldn’t help but touch him. His smile was radiant—dangerously so.

He didn’t walk. He glided.

The man stopped in front of him, gaze flicking briefly to the cup before returning to his eyes. “If it’s still warm, I’ll take it. She doesn’t deserve it, anyway.”