Chapter 1: Superstitions

I never believed in my town’s traditions.

Especially not the stupid ones.

The most ridiculous of them all involved a coin. A lucky coin, they called it. You were supposed to place it on your forehead, hold it there somehow, and wear it until fate decided you were worthy. According to everyone older than me, doing so would lead you straight to your true love.

My parents believed in it. My grandparents swore by it. Half the married couples in town claimed that was how they met.

Everyone except the kids at my high school.

We all agreed it was nonsense—a superstition passed down because people wanted to believe love was guaranteed if you just followed the rules.

Still, that didn’t stop my friends from daring me to try it.

“Just do it,” they said.

“What’s the worst that happens?”

So one afternoon, mostly to shut them up, I folded a coin into my bandanna and tied it tight around my head. Tight enough that I could feel the cold metal pressing against my skin. Tight enough that it left a faint ache by the end of the day.

Nothing happened.

Days passed. Then weeks.

No sudden encounters. No dramatic confessions. No strangers locking eyes with me like something out of a movie. Just the same routine: school, work, home, sleep.

I told myself I should stop wearing the stupid thing. That I’d proven my point.

But every time I loosened the bandanna, someone would notice.

“Keep it on a little longer,” my mom said.

“Your grandfather wore his for months,” my aunt added.

“True love doesn’t rush,” my friends teased.

So I kept it on.

By the last week of my senior year, the bandanna had become a joke around school. Girls would tug at it in the hallway or laugh when I walked by.

“Still waiting on destiny?” they’d say.

I laughed it off. Pretended I didn’t care.

But deep down, I wondered if maybe they were right. Maybe some part of me still hoped the tradition was real. That love wasn’t just random luck.

That it would find you.

It was on one of those afternoons—riding my motorcycle home from school—that I saw her.

She sat on a bench just off the side of the road, near the edge of the old park. Alone. Perfectly still. Staring up at the sky as if nothing else in the world existed.

I didn’t know why she caught my attention.

People sat on that bench all the time.

But something about her made my chest tighten.

The next day, she was there again.

Same bench. Same posture. Same clothes.

A white dress. A wide-brimmed white hat. Long black hair cascading down her back, untouched by the wind.

Every day after that, she appeared. Never moving. Never speaking. Always watching the sky.

And every day, I felt the same strange pull.

By the time Friday rolled around, I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

I pulled my motorcycle over and shut off the engine. My heart pounded as I walked toward her, unsure why my legs felt heavy with each step. I wasn’t the type to talk to strangers. I barely talked to people I knew.

But when she turned her head and looked at me, everything else faded.

She was beautiful in a quiet way. Not flashy. Not unreal. Just… right.

I lifted my hand in a small wave, suddenly too nervous to speak.

She smiled.

Then she patted the empty space beside her.

I sat.

“My name’s James,” I said, my voice shaky. “I—I just wanted to say hello.”

She didn’t respond.

At first, I thought she was shy. Then I realized her lips hadn’t moved at all.

“What’s your name?” I asked gently.

She raised her hand and traced letters in the air between us.

J.

E.

S.

S.

E.

“Jesse?” I asked.

She nodded, her smile brighter than before.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jesse,” I said.

Her eyes lit up.

And for the first time since I tied that coin around my head, I wondered if maybe—just maybe—this town’s old superstition wasn’t so foolish after all.

She pointed up at the sky.

I followed her gaze. A large white cloud drifted overhead, round and fluffy, shaped like a cartoon bunny.

“Do you like watching the clouds?” I asked.

She glanced at me, nodded once, then returned her attention to the sky.

We sat together in silence, watching the clouds slowly change shape as they passed overhead. The quiet didn’t feel awkward. It felt… comfortable. Like we didn’t need words to enjoy the moment.

I checked the time on my phone and felt a small pang of disappointment.

“I’ve got to go,” I said.

Her expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering across her face.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” I asked.

Her eyes brightened instantly. She nodded eagerly.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, unable to hide my smile.

As I reached my motorcycle, I glanced back. She was watching me. When our eyes met, she lifted her hand and waved.

I waved back before starting the engine and riding home.

The entire ride, my thoughts stayed with her.

Jesse couldn’t speak—or maybe she chose not to—but that didn’t mean we couldn’t communicate. Next time, I’d bring paper and pens. We’d figure something out.

I’d never been this interested in anyone before. The girls at my school were loud, careless, always trying too hard to be noticed. Jesse was different. Quiet. Gentle. Present.

For the first time, I wondered if maybe that old superstition wasn’t just a story meant to comfort lonely people.

Maybe it had led me exactly where I needed to be.

The next morning, people at school teased me as usual. Asked if I’d finally found my true love.

This time, I didn’t laugh it off.

“I think I did,” I said.

They stared at me, stunned. My friends knew I wasn’t joking.

When school ended, I made sure I had paper and a pen before heading to the park, eager to learn more about Jesse.

But as soon as I arrived, the bright weather from earlier had vanished.

Dark clouds rolled overhead. Rain poured hard, smacking against the pavement. The wooden bench was soaked.

Jesse was nowhere to be seen.

“Maybe tomorrow,” I thought, disappointment settling in my chest.

I rode home through the rain—and that’s when I saw her.

She was walking along the sidewalk, heading away from the park.

I pulled up beside her and waved. She looked confused at first, until I lifted the visor of my helmet.

Her face lit up.

“I know we said we’d meet at the park,” I said, “but would you like a ride home instead?”

She nodded.

I removed my helmet and handed it to her. “You should wear this.”

She took off her hat and slipped the helmet on, struggling with the buckle. I leaned in and helped secure it.

“It’s tricky,” I said lightly. “Especially when you can’t see the clasp.”

I placed her hat carefully into my backpack.

“One more thing,” I added. “If you need me to turn, just tap my left or right shoulder.”

She nodded again.

I couldn’t help but laugh—it was like watching a princess pretending to be part of a biker gang.

She crossed her arms in mock disapproval.

“I’m sorry,” I said, grinning.

We climbed onto the bike, my backpack pressed between us, and rode through the rain.

When we reached her house, we said our goodbyes.

And we promised we’d meet again.