Chapter 1: First Encounter Under Fairy Lights
The concrete was still warm under Svet’s sandals, holding the day’s heat even as the sun dipped behind the sprawling complex of Americana. The golden hour light bled across the plaza, casting long shadows from the potted olive trees and glinting off the windshields of slowly circling cars. It smelled of sun-baked pavement, faintly sweet from the food court, and the exhausted promise of another Friday night.
“So then he pulls out his phone,” Elin was saying, her hands carving shapes in the humid air, “and I swear, Svet, he starts showing me his crypto portfolio. Over tiramisu.”
Svet leaned against the cool wrought-iron railing, half-listening. A knot of tension had taken up permanent residence between her shoulder blades, a physical weight she carried from lecture halls to her father’s office and back again. She forced a smile. “Was it at least impressive crypto?”
“I don’t know! It was just screens of green and red numbers. It was like he was trying to audit my libido.” Elin sighed, a dramatic, full-body performance. “I’m starting to think my talent for finding emotionally unavailable men is actually a superpower.”
“It’s a gift,” Svet agreed, her gaze drifting over the crowd. Families with strollers, groups of teenagers laughing too loud, couples with intertwined fingers. It all felt like watching a movie she’d already seen. Her phone buzzed in her back pocket. A text from her dad, a forwarded email about quarterly projections. She silenced it.
Mary, ever the anchor, took a slow sip of her iced coffee. “You could always try being emotionally unavailable yourself. It seems to be the trend.”
“And deny the world this joy?” Elin gestured to herself. “Impossible.”
Svet’s laugh felt thin, like it might tear. She was so tired of feeling this way, of the constant, low-grade hum of betrayal that had become the soundtrack to her life. Emily’s face, her ex’s sheepish grin—it all flickered behind her eyes like a bad GIF. She focused on the physical world. The sticky plastic of her cup. The distant wail of a siren. The way her own green eyes looked dull in the reflective glass of the storefront behind her friends.
A shadow fell over her, long and solid, cutting off the warm evening light.
She turned her head.
He was tall, built with the kind of lean solidity that suggested function over show. His posture was straight, but not stiff, an easy confidence in the way he stood. His hair was a messy, dark brown, and his eyes, a startling shade of green even in the fading light, were already fixed on her.
“Hey,” he said, his voice a low, comfortable rumble. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Elin’s eyebrows shot up. Mary’s narrowed.
He offered a slow, easy smirk that crinkled the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t a line. It was just… an expression. “This is probably a little forward,” he began, his gaze never leaving Svet’s. He had a small scar through his left eyebrow. “But I was sitting over there,” he nodded towards a bench near the fountain, “and I saw you laughing with your friends. And I thought, if I don’t come over and at least try to ask, I’ll be kicking myself all weekend.”
Svet could feel her heart doing a clumsy, off-rhythm tap against her ribs. Her walls, usually so high and fortified, felt suddenly transparent. She crossed her arms. “Ask what?”
“Your Instagram.” He said it plainly, no games. “Andre.” He gestured vaguely towards himself. “I’m… okay at conversation in person, but I’m definitely better over DMs. Less chance of putting my foot in my mouth.”
From her periphery, Svet saw Mary shift her weight, her protective glare sharp enough to cut glass. Elin was practically vibrating with silent encouragement.
Svet looked at him—really looked. The honest set of his shoulders. The way he didn’t fidget under her scrutiny. There was no sleaze, no practiced pickup artist vibe. Just a calm, direct request. It was disarming.
She felt a genuine smile touch her lips for the first time all evening. It was small, but it was real. “Svet.”
“Svet,” he repeated, and her name sounded different in his mouth. Softer.
“And my friends, Elin and Mary.”
He gave them a respectful nod. “Ladies.”
Elin waved enthusiastically. Mary offered a tight, non-committal smile.
Svet pulled her phone from her pocket. The screen was cracked. Another thing to deal with. She opened the app, her thumb hovering. This was a terrible idea. She was a mess. She had a business midterm on Monday and a supply chain spreadsheet waiting on her laptop that would probably give her an aneurysm.
Andre watched her, patient. The plaza lights began to flicker on, string by string, casting a soft, artificial glow over them.
She took a breath. It felt like the first deep one she’d taken all day. She tapped her profile and handed him the phone. “Don’t make me regret this.”
His fingers brushed against hers as he took it, a brief, warm touch that sent a jolt straight up her arm. He typed quickly, handed it back. “There. Now you have the power. No pressure.”
He gave her one last, heart-stopping smile, nodded to her friends again, and turned, melting back into the foot traffic without another word.
Svet looked down at her screen. A new follower request. `andre.t._` The profile picture was of him, smiling in a forest, a German Shepherd sitting obediently at his feet.
“Well,” Mary said, her tone dry. “He has a dog. That’s points.”
Elin snatched Svet’s arm. “Oh my god! He was so hot! And he just… asked! Who does that anymore? He’s like a vampire from a teen romance. All intense and ‘I must have you’.”
“He asked for my Instagram, Elin, not my blood.”
“Details,” Elin waved a dismissive hand. “Are you going to message him?”
Svet stared at the username on her screen. It was just a username. But it felt like a door, cracked open in a wall that had felt impossibly solid just minutes ago. A little reckless. A little stupid. Maybe exactly what she needed.
She slid the phone back into her pocket without answering. The hum of betrayal was still there, but now, underneath it, was something else. A low, curious thrum of anticipation.