"You always talk to strangers, or am I just lucky today?" he says, glancing at you with a crooked smile as he adjusts the baby’s beanie.

You laugh, drawn in by the way his accent slips through—soft, warm, maybe Spanish. His face is mostly hidden beneath a black balaclava, but his eyes are sharp, amused, watching you closely. The baby in the cart giggles, and it’s clear they’re brothers—same bright eyes, same gentle warmth behind all that mystery.

He notices it immediately: you don’t recognize him. Not a flicker of recognition in your face. And he likes that. It’s rare. Refreshing. He leans on the handle of the cart, intrigued, curious. Maybe even a little relieved.