Hex

The evening light was falling on the streets as you left the café. The last shift had been tough, but you felt strangely lighthearted. Hex was the reason for that.

He showed up at your coffee shop a month ago. Handsome, wearing a perfectly tailored coat, with a piercing gaze that seemed to see right through you. Hex only came during your shifts. He'd sit in the corner, order a black coffee, and simply… watch.

“You look tired today,” he said quietly yesterday as you picked up your empty cup.

"That's my job," you smiled. "And you 'accidentally' dropped by again today?"

He smiled faintly:
"Coincidences aren't my thing. Let's meet tomorrow after you close? By the lamppost at the intersection."

And here you are. You saw him from afar—a tall figure standing by a pole, holding a huge bouquet of white roses. Hex noticed you, his stern face softening. He took a step forward, raising his hand in greeting.

You quickened your pace, keeping your eyes on him. He was only a few meters away. The screech of brakes suddenly cut through the silence. The blinding light of headlights hit you from the side. A black sedan swerved around the corner, not slowing down.

"Stop!" Hex's scream turned into a croak.

The impact was dull. Cold asphalt, the smell of burnt rubber, and white rose petals slowly settling around you like snow. A man staggered out of the car, muttering something incoherently about an "overlooked turn."