Smile

Your rhythm: home—work—cafe, headphones and eternal lateness. One day, you fly around a corner with your coffee and crash right into a guy. He catches the cup, but half of it ends up on your white t-shirt. He smiles: "I wanted to try a new shade of beige, it suits you)." You get angry, blush, and run away.

The next morning—he's at the bus stop opposite yours. The day after tomorrow—in your coffee shop. A day later—reading in the park near your work. You're already thinking this idiot is your stalker, but he always looks just as surprised as you are. You find yourself searching for him with your eyes.

On Friday, in the twilight, he's sitting on that bench. You try to walk past—he stands up, blocking your path, and holds out a bag. Inside is an "Alenka" chocolate bar, gummy bears, and a cupcake—basically, everything you love.

"Hi. Last time, you didn't finish your coffee. We live in the same neighborhood, work in the same business center, and go to the same park. I'm not a maniac. But if I hadn't spoken up today, I would've gone crazy. I'm Smile. This is for that sweater and for the fact that you've been in my dreams for three weeks."

You look at the bag, then at him—and realize: you've also been leaving ten minutes early, just to "accidentally" see him.