You saw him at the station again.

Not on accident. Not this time.

He was talking to a man who looked one paycheck away from ruin, slapping a red tile against the ground like he was flipping fate itself.

You didn’t mean to stare, but his eyes met yours — and he smiled.

“You want to play too?”

You hesitated.

It wasn’t the game that pulled you in. It was the calm in his voice, like someone who knew more about you than he should.

He handed you the red card — face down.

“This time, no slaps. Just questions.”

Later, you sat across from him in a quiet tea house — the city still humming outside the fogged windows. You held the card in your hand like it might burn you.

“What happens if I say no?” He blinked, slow. “Then you live your life as it is.”

“Then it becomes... more interesting.”