Chapter 4: the stranger with a soft smile

The sky hung low and grey, the kind of colour that made the whole world look like it forgot to breathe. Abigail walked slowly, hands shoved into her jacket pockets, shoulders curled forward as if the weight of everything she’d been carrying finally decided to settle right on her spine.

It had been three days since Aunt Lila’s funeral.

People kept telling her it would “get easier,” which was stupid because absolutely nothing had gotten easier. Her house felt hollow, like it was waiting for footsteps that weren’t coming back. Even the air tasted different. Too still. Too quiet. Too wrong.

She crossed the street without noticing the light had turned. A horn blared behind her.

“Sorry!” she yelled on instinct, even though she wasn’t sure who she was apologizing to.

Her head was swimming a little. She hadn’t slept well. Or eaten well. Or done anything well, if she was honest.

She walked faster.

She needed air. Real air. Something that didn’t smell like old flowers and grief casseroles.

She turned the corner—
—and slammed straight into someone.

Her phone went flying. Her shoulder throbbed. She staggered back with a gasp.

“Woah—woah, I’m so sorry!” a voice rushed out.

She blinked, trying to steady herself. A guy stood in front of her with both hands raised, like she was a wild animal he didn’t want to spook. Tall, messy dark hair, warm brown eyes that looked way too sincere for a stranger on a Tuesday afternoon.

He bent down, picked up her phone, wiped it gently on his sleeve, and handed it back.

“There. I swear it didn’t hit the ground face-first. We survived.”

Abigail let out a weak breath. “Thanks. Sorry. I wasn’t really… paying attention.”

“That makes two of us,” he said. “I was looking at the sky. Thought it might rain. Turns out it was you.”

She blinked. “…Did you just compare me to rain?”

“Uh, yeah. Badly,” he admitted. “I’ll work on better metaphors next time.”

She huffed out a laugh. An actual laugh. It surprised her enough that she covered her mouth for a second.

He noticed.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

She nodded, even though she wasn’t. “Yeah. Just… long week.”

“I get that,” he said. “I’m James.”

She stared at his extended hand for a moment before shaking it. His grip was warm and steady.

“Abigail.”

“Nice to meet you, Abigail-who-walks-like-she’s-fighting-gravity.”

“I don’t walk like that,” she protested.

He tilted his head. “You definitely do. I thought you were about to challenge the pavement to a duel.”

She laughed again — softer this time, but real.

And for a moment, she felt her chest loosen just a little.

They stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, people walking around them like they were a rock in a river. James shoved his hands into his jacket pockets awkwardly.

“So uh… you heading somewhere important?” he asked.

“No. Just walking.”

“That makes two of us again,” he said. “I just got off work. Didn’t feel like going home yet.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Too quiet.”

She stared at him. Something about the coincidence made her throat tighten a little.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I know that feeling.”

He watched her with soft curiosity — not the prying kind, not the judgmental kind, just… present.

“You want some company while you walk?” he asked. “If not, totally cool. I’m not a weirdo. I mean, I might be, but not the dangerous kind.”

She snorted. “That’s exactly what a dangerous weirdo would say.”

“Damn. Found out immediately. I’ll retire from crime.”

“Glad to hear it.”

They started walking together. At first it was awkward — the “should we talk?” silence followed them for a full block.

Then James broke it.

“Sooo… what’s your favourite ice cream flavor?”

She blinked. “That’s your big question?”

“It’s how I evaluate people’s souls. Very serious process.”

She shook her head. “Vanilla.”

He gasped dramatically. “Pure chaos. I respect it.”

She raised a brow. “What about you?”

“Mint chip.”

She groaned loudly. “You’re one of those people.”

“Mint chip is elite.”

“It tastes like brushing your teeth with cold chocolate.”

He laughed so hard he had to stop walking. “Okay, that was good.”

They kept strolling. Light conversation. Surprisingly easy. Weirdly comfortable.

Eventually, James stopped at a crosswalk and looked at her thoughtfully.

“Hey, Abigail?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you… wanna keep talking sometime? Like… not just while almost getting run over or comparing ice cream sins?”

Her pulse jumped. She hesitated, biting her lip. It felt strange to say yes. Like breaking some unspoken rule about grief. Like she was betraying someone.

But saying no felt heavier.

“…Yeah,” she finally said. “I think I’d like that.”

He smiled — not big, not cocky, just warm. Gentle. Safe.

“Cool,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Numbers?”

They exchanged phones, typed, handed them back.

“Alright,” James said, stepping back toward the street. “I’ll text you later. Try not to duel the pavement again.”

She rolled her eyes. “No promises.”

He gave her one last grin before walking away, hands in pockets, shoulders bouncing slightly like he had music playing in his head.

Abigail stood there for a moment, watching him disappear around the corner.

For the first time in days…
the world felt a little less grey.

A little less quiet.

A little less crushing.

She exhaled, a slow, shaky breath — and walked home with just a little more light in her steps.