Chapter 1:
The Looped Lovers
He lingered near the doorway, water dripping from the hood of his jacket, camera hanging from his neck like a habit. Inside, the room was small and dimly lit, with warm lamps casting golden pools over scattered bookshelves and mismatched chairs. A girl stood at the far end, barefoot on a small wooden platform, playing an acoustic set for a small, scattered crowd. Her voice was clear—quiet, but certain.
He raised his camera.
Click.
She looked up.
Their eyes met.
She faltered—not enough for anyone else to notice, but just long enough for the wordless question to hang between them.
Click.
The song ended.
The room applauded gently. She gave a modest nod, said thank you into the mic, and stepped down. Her hair was damp near the edges, and her black shirt clung just slightly to her collarbone. She moved like someone used to watching people leave before she finished talking.
Xander found a seat in the back. He wasn’t sure if he’d stay. But then—she walked toward him.
“Do I know you?” he asked as she approached.
She gave a soft smile. “You’re late.”
He blinked. “What?”
She looked at him for a second too long. Then shrugged. “I meant your coffee. It’s probably cold.”
She nodded toward the cup the barista had placed on the counter next to him.
Xander looked down. “I didn’t order anything.”
She gave a little shrug. “Then maybe it’s just for you anyway.”
And just like that, she sat across from him.
Her name was Lana.
He only learned this halfway through the conversation, after she had already asked him if he believed in reincarnation and whether he preferred the sound of ocean waves or the hum of power lines.
“Waves,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because they leave things behind.”
She sipped her coffee. “You don’t talk like someone who takes pictures of abandoned buildings.”
“I don’t talk much at all,” he replied.
That made her laugh—not a loud laugh, just a soft sound, like she wasn’t used to using it.
They talked until the café dimmed its lights slightly, a subtle cue that the day was over and closing time wasn’t far. Outside, the rain had thinned to a mist. Lana pulled out a notepad from her tote bag—half crumpled, edges worn. She scribbled something down in silence. Xander watched her hand move, and a strange ache bloomed in his chest.
He didn't recognize the lyrics she wrote. But he felt like he’d heard them before.
At home, Xander developed the photo.
It was still warm in the bathroom, the red light casting everything in the same hue as blood or sunsets. The image came through slowly: Lana on stage, mid-note. But her face was blurred—like it was moving even though he was sure she’d stood still.
He hung it to dry next to the others. His gallery was filled with lonely places: crumbling hallways, rusted fences, broken clocks. But one photo caught his eye.
A tree. Bright red leaves. Bent by the wind.
He didn't remember taking it.
Lana sat cross-legged in her apartment, a mug of instant coffee between her knees. Her keyboard blinked faintly, half plugged in, her notebook open to a blank page.
She scrolled through her voice memos. Static. A few random melodies. One she couldn’t remember recording played—soft, mournful, like a lullaby played underwater. She played it three times in a row.
Then she turned to the next page in her notebook and drew a figure. A man in armor. Just the silhouette. A sword at his side. Standing in the middle of a desert.
She looked at the page, then laughed at herself. “I don’t even like fantasy.”
She flipped the page again and wrote the title of her next song:
The One I Waited For.
That night, as the rain began again in quiet taps against the window, Xander stepped onto his balcony. He lit a cigarette but didn’t smoke it—just let it burn. Lana stood at her own window across the block, headphones on, humming the same lullaby from her voice memo.
The sky was full of clouds. The moon fought to peek through.
They looked up at the same time.
Different windows. Same sky.
Xander: “Have we done this before?”
Lana: “Will we do this again?”
[END OF CHAPTER 1]
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