The afternoon light spilled over the city like warm silk, soft and golden. You walked with purpose—arms wrapped around a neatly tied gift box, shoes tapping lightly on the sidewalk. The breeze carried the smell of roasted coffee and fresh pastries, laughter echoing faintly from somewhere nearby.

You passed a sleek restaurant, its entire front framed in what looked like mirrored glass—tall, tinted, elegant.

You paused.

It caught your reflection perfectly. You adjusted the ribbon on your box, smoothed your hair, tilted your head just a little, and smiled—blinked playfully, winked, and lifted your fingers into a tiny heart.

Just a small, sweet moment. Just for yourself.

Then you walked on—heading toward the next door down the block.

What you didn’t realize was that the mirrored wall? It wasn’t a mirror at all. It was a one-way window.

And inside, a long table of sharply dressed men—having their middle school reunion—watched everything you just did through that window. Oblivious that they were on the other side, hidden from view.

The room stilled.

Smiles spread. One choked on his drink, another leaned forward in disbelief. Shoulders shifted, ties adjusted, posture straightened instinctively, like they’d all been caught off guard by something rare.

The energy shifted—curious, intrigued, stirred.

But Dio Vaughn had already moved.

He rose quietly from his seat, ignoring the buzz that rippled through the table. No hesitation. No glance back.

The door closed behind him as the others exchanged flustered glances and low murmurs. Before they could decide who would go—he was already gone.

You were just about to enter the restaurant next door when a voice beside you said, “Hey—sorry, I think this might be yours.”

You turned.

A tall man stood just a few feet away, holding out a folded napkin between two fingers. Dark blazer. Cool eyes. A subtle watch at his wrist. You blinked.

“I… don’t think so,” you said politely.

“No?” His expression stayed soft, a flicker of something amused at the corner of his mouth. “Could’ve sworn it belonged to the girl making finger hearts in the mirror a minute ago.”

You froze. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he said, gesturing back. “That’s not a mirror. Not from the inside.”

Your cheeks warmed instantly.

Then, a little bolder, he added, “I’d feel pretty stupid if I didn’t ask… but do you maybe want to give me your number?”

He chuckled—just under his breath—and extended a hand this time instead of the napkin. “Ah, right. By the way, I'm Dio Vaughn.”

There was something striking about the way he said his name—simple, unhurried. Like he already knew you’d remember it.

“And you are?” he asked, tone light but curious, eyes not leaving yours.

The world kept moving around you—cars, laughter, sun—but somehow, everything slowed. And maybe, just maybe, something was about to begin.